White Whispers and Whiter Shadows
by scrapingskies
Summary: Ida Delgrave and Steve Rogers are polar opposites. Her morals are loose, her past misty and her hands soaked in blood. He's America's Golden Boy, the leader of the Avengers and an upstanding citizen. Realistically, they should hate each other. But, when a mission sends their paths crossing, things take a very different turn [Steve Rogers/OC].
1. PART ONE: Chapter 1

**A/N: Being ONE HUNDRED PERCENT honest here, I have no idea what this is. It's just an idea I had for a Steve/OC story that kind of spiralled out of control to the point where I couldn't help but want to write it. I haven't actually read many Steve/OC stories so I have no idea how cliche this is lmao. **

**A lot of this is just me wanting to step out. For the past month now I've been writing Hidden in Plain Sight SOLIDLY and, while I love it, it can get a bit tiring and I had this idea instead. Obviously, Hidden in Plain Sight is not stopping, I'm just getting into the fun mystery now and I don't want to lose that. But, I also want to write this too. New OC, new storyline and, more adult at that. **

**Ida's quite different to other characters I've written mainly because I usually write teenagers and she's an adult and is able to form much more mature relationships with people (specifically Steve but this is gonna be a slowish burn lmao). She doesn't have any powers, but she's smart (not in a Tony Stark way, in her own way) and her past does connect to **_**another **_**Avenger but we'll get into that. Who she really is will be revealed gradually but, for now, enjoy… **

* * *

**PART ONE:** **FUCK IT, I LOVE YOU**

_"So I moved to California, but it's just a state of mind_

_It turns out everywhere you go, you take yourself, that's not a lie_

_Wish that you would hold me or just say that you were mine_

_It's killing me slowly_

_Dream a little dream of me_

_Make me into something sweet_

_Turn the radio on, dancing to a pop song_

_Fuck it, I love you"_

* * *

**Chapter One: The Woman of Whispers**

_Washington DC_

_November 17th, 2013_

_Just before Midnight_

It was raining that night. Thick and heavy, and the city couldn't handle it. Water streamed down the roads, gutters overflowed, turning the streets into something that resembled a river. No one was stupid enough to stay out in this weather, especially not at this time at night. And, those who had gotten caught out in it, didn't hang around long, using bags and briefcases to shield their heads as they ran to shelter to wait out the rain. But the rain wouldn't stop, not until the very early hours of the next morning.

The rain had created a strange mist too. Not quite as thick as fog, but it left the already dark night feeling darker, especially down below on the quiet streets where the shining lights of DC's skyscrapers were so far away. It added to the empty feeling, anyone still left hanging around on sidewalks were just silhouette shapes in the rain with no discernible features. Even the white glow of street lights could not pierce the misty darkness, neither could the brightest of car headlights. None of DC's iconic traffic crowded the streets, not in this visibility. In fact, there was only one car, that became visible when it was already too close, white headlamps reflecting off the heavy rain.

The black SUV drew up to the curb, its wheels splashing the stream of water overflowing from a gutter as the driver pulled the breaks. That said driver stepped out, and pulled open a black umbrella before closing the door behind him. He then proceeded to walk around the car and open the door to the backseat.

The woman stepped out onto the sidewalk with an air of elegance hanging around her. Her heeled boots did not disturb the puddles of water around her, nor did any of the rain get a chance to fall on her head, as she took the black umbrella from her driver's hand. She was a fairly tall woman, with a thick head of blonde hair which, despite being long, was kept in perfect waves. Her skin was a light olive colour but, despite the general fairness of her features, her eyes were impossibly dark. So brown, they were almost black, and it narrowed her features, making her face seem sharper than it actually was.

She wore a long, cream coat, probably too light-weight for this weather, but it hardly seemed to bother her.

"Will you be needing company tonight, Miss Delgrave?" Asked the driver.

The woman, Delgrave, shook her head and glanced out from underneath her umbrella to peer up at the grim sky.

"No, Martin," she shook her head. Her voice carried a slight lilt, saying that she wasn't American, but she spoke English well enough that any accent had _almost _completely bled out of her voice. "I'll be alright. Do you have the briefcase?"

Martin nodded and opened the passenger side, pulling out a black briefcase and handing it to her.

"Thank you," she said, taking it off of him, "stay in the car, out of the rain. I should only be ten minutes."

"Yes, Miss Delgrave."

Her name was Ida Delgrave, but no one called her first name, not for many years. She was fine with just Delgrave or the Woman of Whispers or the White Shadow. And there were many other names for her, that was inevitable with the kind of work she did, the kind of reputation she had. Some were kind and described her beauty, her sharpness. Others were not so much. But she cared little for what they called her.

She held the umbrella in one hand over her head as she walked down the wet street, the other hand holding the briefcase. Despite the fact that the sidewalk was drenched and water from the lashing rain ran down it like a river, she barely seemed to get wet at all. Any particular deep puddles of dark rainwater, she avoided with ease. And, any that were too big to simply walk around, she stepped over with elegance and grace.

She stopped at the entrance to a dark alleyway, where a young child was slumped underneath a make-shift cover made from a cardboard box, a silver tin out in front of him. Ida bent down to drop a few dollars in, and the child looked up. A young boy with scruffy brown hair, looked up.

"They're down in the bar, ma'am," said the boy, with a thick american accent, "heard 'em talking when they got out that car—" he pointed to a black Land Rover parked nearby. "Said they get the information and get rid of any loose ends."

Delgrave sighed. It was expected news, but annoying all the same.

"Thanks, Oscar," she said, "you can head back to the orphanage now."

He jumped back to his feet, taking the silver tin with him and began to dart away when he paused.

"You really gonna go down there on your own, Miss Delgrave?"

"Don't worry about me, Oscar," she said, "head on back."

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded and ran down the street, vanishing into the mist.

Ida watched him go for a second, before heading deeper down the alley to where there was a metal door guarded by a pinpad. Uninviting and unwelcoming to outsiders, but Ida was not an outsider. She put in the code and the door clicked open.

The inside was an incredible contrast to the horrific weather from outside. She emerged from the misty grey streets into a warm, glowing bar lit by yellow lamps and wallpaper, adding to the cosy feeling of the place. It was quiet, only a few people in, and one man working at the bar. He was cleaning the beer faucets when Ida entered and hung up her umbrella and coat. He nodded to a booth in the corner of the bar and she nodded in return as he got back to work.

She walked over to the booth where the barman had indicated and sat down with a coy smile on her face.

Three men, all in suits. She paid no mind to the other two, there was little doubt in her mind as to why they were there. The man sitting between them was the one she cared about. He was just over middle-aged, with thinning grey hair and a thick mustache. He had a smug air around him, one that reminded Ida of a pig. Unlikeable, to say the least. He had clearly thought he had gotten ahead of her, clearly thought he knew more than she did and he was in control of the outcome of this evening.

But they didn't call Ida Delgrave the Woman of Whispers for nothing.

"Gentleman," she greeted his two other men, tilting her head to the side slightly, focusing on the one in the centre, "Mr Newland. It's good to see you got here safely."

"You're late," grumbled Newland.

She checked her watch. She supposed she was.

"Sorry about that," she said smoothly, "caught up in business, you know how it is."

"We have business right here, right now, Miss Delgrave," he growled.

He wasn't polite, he obviously didn't see it necessary. It wasn't necessary, of course, but most of her clients preferred to have the Woman of Whispers on their side, so treating her like this would not help his case.

"We do indeed," her voice remained sickly sweet. "So, let's get down to it. First, my money."

"I—"

She raised her finger to silence here. "I understand that your a first time client, Mr Newland, and you do not know how I do things. But I take my money before I give the information. That is how it works. If you are unsatisfied, then you can try to find the information I have elsewhere, but I can promise you that _that_ will end in failure."

This seemed to shut Newland up, though his wrinkled face remained a tight scowl. He nodded stiffly to one of his men, who bent down to pick up a brown briefcase of their own on the floor. He passed it across the table to Ida, who clicked open the lock and peeked inside, feeling satisfaction as a smirk spread over her features. It was filled to the brim with fifty dollar bills.

She closed the briefcase and picked up her own, black one, passing that one over the table.

"Inside, you'll find copies of all the files the CIA have made about you and your group," she said.

Newland opened the briefcase to check this himself, flicking through the files inside. He nodded to himself, satisfied and looked up to Ida.

"How much do they know?" He asked.

"The files don't go to extensive detail," she said, leaning back in the booth. "But they are aware of the hideout your group have in the Zagros Mountains, and the weapons and artillery you hold." She glanced between the three men. "They don't plan on attacking."

"What?" Newland looked up, "there must be a mistake."

"I'm afraid your planning was miscalculated, Mr Newland. Your men are surrounded by mountains and, beyond that, surrounded by Americans who will most certainly mow them down if they emerge. They're trapped there, and their resources are slowly depleting. The CIA are waiting for your men to surrender."

"They wouldn't surrender," Newland scowled, "they believe in—"

"Men tend to lose faith when they are starving in the heat," she said sharply. "You're no fool, Mr Newland, most of these men are only boys and, when it came to life and death, they will choose life." Newland contemplated this, as she continued. "Your boys in the mountains have been negotiating through secret channels so you won't catch word. Peace negotiations. Their weapons and artillery, as well as the names of their commanders, in exchange for their lives and freedom."

Newland's mouth curled into an ugly frown, he seemed torn between worry and disgust at the actions of his soldiers. Ida remained sitting there, a small smile on her face and raised eyebrows. The outcome of the fight between Newland's group and the CIA had little effect on her.

"I imagine," she said, "that, by secretly dropping more resources to your men, their loyalty will be persuaded once again." She then glanced at her nails, long and pale pink, inspecting them. "But it's not my place to comment on strategy."

Newland remained silent for a few more seconds, but when he spoke again, Ida lowered her hand to look at him.

"Thank you, Miss Delgrave," he nodded, "this information is… invaluable."

Her eyes flickered from his face for a second as she spotted the man to his right shift slightly, and the men to his left clutch the handle of the briefcase she had given to them. And she looked back at Newland, the small smile growing into a fuller smirk.

"That's why I get paid," she dipped her head, "will that be all, or do you boys care to share a drink?"

"While it's a lovely offer," he said, "I'm afraid you won't be joining us."

The man to right pulled out a handgun, pointing it right at her. She didn't even flinch, regarding the weapon for a moment before focusing back on Newland.

"Mr Newland," she said, "you're a new client, I understand that, but I didn't take you for a fool. Lower your weapon and we can both leave with what we want. I have given you the information, you needn't know more."

"You can easily tell the CIA that we know what their planning now," he said, "no lose ends."

"I wouldn't see the CIA, Newland," she scoffed and laughed at the idea, "I'm not American loyalist. I couldn't care less about what happens in the Zagros mountain range."

"You would tell them if they gave you a decent enough price."

She sighed, nodding, "well that it is true. Oh well, I see how this ends now."

"Yes, I think we both do."

Before he could even gesture for his man to fire, Ida had clicked the heels of her boots together, and a knife shot out the front of her left boot. She dug into the shin of the man holding the gun, causing him to yell out in pain and drop the gun. She snatched it off him before it could hit the table and shot him and then the second man both in the head before either of them could comprehend what had just happened.

She turned the weapon to Newland, now without his bodyguards, who had his hands in the air.

"New clients," she said, "must it always be this way? You underestimate me, Mr Newland, I know everything. Your men have been killed for nothing."

Newland's face showed both fear and anger.

"I see why they call you the _bitch _of Whispers now."

Ida Delgrave was called many names, this didn't bother her.

"Remember who's holding the gun," she said, sweet tone never dropping. "Now, you can either leave with this information and do with it what you will, or you can die here and lose everything. I'm a woman of my word, I have my payment, you have the information. You, Mr Newland, are _not _a man of your word. You can change that now."

Disgust flickered on his face but then came defeat, he knew full well that Ida had him cornered. And, while Newland wanted to cut off 'loose ends' he had learnt a lesson today.

If there was one thing he couldn't call Ida, it was a loose end.

He snatched up the briefcase and stormed out of the bar, slamming the door shut behind him. No one else in the bar took any notice, this seemed like it was regular to them. Ida watched him go, smirk remaining on her face before she glanced back at the two men and sighed.

"What a mess," she muttered and glanced at the barman. "Henriek? Can you get this cleaned up?"

"No problem, ma'am," the man dipped his head, "do you care for a glass? We just got a new bottle of wine delivered over from Southern France, said to be one of Europe's favourites."

She shrugged and smiled, "can't hurt."

* * *

_The Triskelion, Washington DC_

_The Next Day_

_Early Morning_

"How did the mission fair, Captain?"

"Easy job," said Steve, who was sitting down across from Fury in his office. "We infiltrated the camp without much difficulty. STRIKE team and Romanoff freed the hostages, I arrested their leader."

"In and out kind of job?"

"If that's how you want to put it."

Steve, Romanoff and the Strike team had worked late last night to infiltrate am American camp of drug and people traffickers camped in the desert, near the Mexican border. Their plan was to sneak into the opposing country and sell drugs and slaves to gangs and businesses in the country. The effort had been SHIELD, thought it had the backing of both the Mexican and American government.

It had been quick and easy and Steve had gotten back to his apartment with enough time to crash for a few hours, not that he needed much sleep. And then it was back into work early the next morning to hand his report into Fury, who hardly seemed interested in the matter anyway.

"Well, I hope your well rested," said Fury, "because your needed in the briefing room in half an hour."

"Another mission?"

"Just looking into something," he said, "I was originally going to send in Romanoff alone, but I figured she could use the extra muscle and she didn't mind the idea. Again, you'll meet her in the briefing room in half an hour."

"Yes, sir," said Steve, not really disguising the weariness in his tone.

"You're dismissed, Captain."

Steve had been working for SHIELD for a few months now after the DC attack, it seemed the most appropriate job for him. He was no master spy or deadly assassin, like Clint or Natasha. Nor was he an agent. He remained an Avenger and remained Captain Rogers or, as the public still called him or one of his teammates while on jobs, Captain _America_.

It was… a job. He would never say that this line of work was enjoyable. Beating up people, arresting them, witnessing civilians get caught in the crossfire and not being able to save everyone. But Steve had long accepted that that was just what happened, and while rescuing as many as possible was key (though the Strike team often disagreed with that), finishing the mission and saving everyone was most important.

Sometimes, it could be especially frustrating. And that frustration was rarely compacted on those he worked with. The Strike team, while a rather violent group of people, were good to talk to and worked together in sync. Rollins, for example, was a formidable fighter. And Rumlow was the same, though had much more charm than his ex-KGB teammate. Most of the problems originated from people like Fury. His boss who tended to not give the full picture and send out strange orders without explanation. And people like Natasha would follow it without question.

But, most jobs were frustrating (Tony had told him wisely despite being the man who had spent his entire life as his own boss) and Steve just had to put it up with it. So he did. Sometimes. Other times, going against orders was necessary, even if it pissed of Fury.

However, he obeyed them this time. Arriving in the briefing room in exactly half an hour, only to find it empty. Sighing, he shook his head and sat down.

Naturally, his eyes flickered to the photos on the wall. The briefing room was probably the most decked out room in the entire triskelion. Lots of up to date technology, maps and information covered the walls. But, there were also photos too. Steve could see them now, honorary SHIELD members.

Peggy was up there, young with her iconic red lipstick on, making his heart clench a little. He had visited her in the hospital the other day, and she had remembered him being alive this time and the two spoke like normal. About all the exciting adventures Peggy had gotten up to while Steve was away. Those that she could remember, of course. And, sometimes she would mention people. People like Howard and the Howling Commandos and talk about them as if they were right there. Alive and well. Not like they had lived out their lives and died years before Steve had woken up.

Steve knew Peggy was gone. _His _Peggy at least. They were in modern times now, and she was an old woman suffering from dementia and stuck to bedrest. The elements of the fierce woman were still there of course, but she had moved on and married and had kids and grandkids. Steve thought that was pretty remarkable, that she was able to move on from the war and build her own life and reputation as a respected founder of SHIELD and a force to be reckoned with. Steve was happy for her.

He sighed and looked at a few more photos. Howard Stark, a few more of the Howling Commandos and a couple more, recognisable faces from the old days, as well as a few new ones that he didn't know.

"Reliving the good ol' days?" Asked Natasha when she walked in. Steve only heard her when the door closed behind her, she could be incredibly silent when she wanted to.

"Wouldn't say they were the 'good old days,'" he said, "no one's dying of mild fevers anymore which, you know, is better."

"I suppose," a small smile quirked the redhead's lips.

Despite her sometimes cocky, mysterious nature being frustrating, Steve had worked closely with Natasha. She was a formidable fighter, far more skilled than anyone in the Strike team and, despite everything, easy to get along with. As they were both Avengers, bantering back and forth came with ease, even in life or death situations.

"So," Steve said, "what's this new mission."

"There's been rumours," said Natasha, "of terrorist activities in Russia."

"What, and Russia has asked us to help out?" He gave her a doubtful look.

"Not quite," she shook her head and sat down across from him. The only two in the briefing room that was made for a lot more people. "Fury just caught word and asked me to look into it a little more. I asked for you to help because things tend to go a little sour when I start asking about the Russians."

Steve nodded. Fair enough.

"So," he said, "how do you think we'll look into it?"

"I have my sources," said Natasha, handing him a rather thin folder containing only a couple pages of files.

Steve flicked it open and saw a zoomed image of a woman. It was blurry, out of focus and obviously taken from a distance. From what he could tell from the low quality photo, she was blonde, blonder with him, her hair bordering on platinum with olive skin. And that was about it. Sunglasses covered her eyes and the photo didn't allow for any more detail than that.

Steve inspected the file closer and read the name next to the photo, "'Ida Delgrave?'"

"She's better known underground as the Woman of Whispers," explained Natasha, "she knows almost everything about everyone. And, if she doesn't, then she'll find out somehow."

Steve read the file closer, "looks like she's got links with almost every government… and every terrorist cell."

"Yes…" Natasha trailed off and shook her head. "She sells secrets to any party offering a high enough price. Government secrets, terrorist secret and any other secrets you can think of."

"So she's a criminal."

"So am I, technically."

Steve sighed at her, "yes, but you work for SHIELD now, you saved the world. This woman," he pointed to the file, "is putting people in danger for money."

Natasha just looked at him, "you can't arrest her, SHIELD and the CIA and FBI wouldn't allow that. She sells information about them as she sells information to terrorists. On most missions, her knowledge has been invaluable."

There was something in Natasha's eye that made him ask, "do you know her?"

"We have a past," said Natasha.

"Oh yeah?"

"She's a Russian," the redhead supplied, "we, er, trained together for awhile. And then, a little while later, I was ordered to kill her."

"But you didn't."

She shook her head but elaborated no further. Natasha kept her past close to the chest. Steve didn't know the woman _that _well, and didn't want to push her into saying anything she didn't want to.

"You believe she'll have information about this terrorist activity then?" Asked Steve.

"I think so," said Natasha, "if anyone does, it'll be her. All I know is that, whatever's happening, Moscow isn't aware of it, and there's a terrorist cell located a few miles out of Krasnoyarsk."

Steve's eyebrows shot up, "Siberia?"

She nodded, "what they have planned, I don't know. I don't even know if it's anything more than rumours."

"Well," Steve leant forward, "I'd like to find out."

"Me too," nodded Natasha and smirked. "I'll get in contact with her, organise a meeting for tomorrow. You can take that file and look into her if you want, no doubt she knows everything about the two of us anyway."

Steve nodded and looked back down at the file. Ida Delgrave. Underneath it had a list of 'codenames' and, sure enough, the name Natasha had called her by 'the Woman of Whispers' was there, as well as several other, some quite harsh. But it was the second one that caught Steve's interest. 'The White Shadow,' it was a strange name to go by, but he didn't linger on it too long.

Her list of contacts or, to put it better, people she had done deals with, was longer and one he would have to go over in detail tonight. Oh well, not like he had any other plans.

* * *

Ida had dreamt last night, which was unusual. It had been a loud dream, filled with pain and ballet music. When she had woken up, she had down her best to forget it. But, forgetting was difficult to do when you lived alone in a too-big apartment and the only person around was yourself.

Well, yourself and Circe. But Circe wasn't very chatty because she was a cat. And a rather grumpy one at that. She was grumbling to Ida now, who had elected to scan through a few files and eat breakfast before feeding her.

"Hush, Circe," she said to black cat who glared ruefully at her, before stalking off.

Rolling her eyes, Ida turned back to the file. Work was her main distraction, and an effective one at that. She worked to her own schedule, the head of her own business, which meant she was working almost all the time and it paid off. The apartment itself proved how good she was. Expensive, right in the heart of DC with large windows which allowed for an expansive view of the sunrise over the city. And it wasn't like this was her only apartment either.

She had been working for years now. Gaining power, gaining money, gaining a reputation as the Woman of Whispers. And Whispers she did hear. If any government was keeping secrets, Ida already knew them. If a terrorist cell was planning something, Ida already knew about it.

And that made her dangerous. She knew things that no one was ever supposed to know. But no one ever came for her because everyone wanted to know what Ida knew. But her secrets never came free. Everything had a price.

How she got her information. Well, that was through many means. Means of which she kept to herself.

She was reading information now. She had a meeting with a client in the afternoon, a Ukrainian official who wanted information on the location of a rebel group in the East of the country. The specific political circumstances, while she was aware of them, she didn't care for it. Whether people would get hurt or not, she didn't care much for either. He was offering plenty of money, and that was all that mattered.

She stood up and stretched, before walking over to a wall and pressing a button next to a speaker.

"Martin?" She said.

"Yes, Miss Delgrave?" Came his voice over the speakers.

"What time is my meeting with Mr Kushnir?"

"Three thirty, ma'am."

"Alright," she glanced back over the file, "thank you, Martin."

She wasn't entirely alone. Martin was her driver, assistant and (sort of) a butler. He had been working for her for nine years now and was possibly the only other person in the world she trusted. He was an ageing man with sprinkles of grey in his dark hair, and a polite voice and posture. He was also the only one gutsy enough to chide Ida and come out of it with both of his kneecaps. She appreciated him.

She fed Circe because the cat was pretty much yowling in her face at this point.

"You're miserable," she said, "you know that right? All you do is complain."

The cat looked up, flicked her tail in response and went back to eating. Ida glared back at her.

She entered her bathroom, eyes flickering up to the reflection in the overly large mirror. Long, almost-platinum, blonde hair fell far past her shoulders in neat waves and framed a rather tired-looking face. She hadn't done her makeup yet, and she usually did. Most of how she looked how dressed was to maintain reputation. Ida Delgrave had to look beautiful because it made her job a lot easier.

She pushed her hair back a little, revealing the side of her face. A long scar next to the hairline, running from her left temple to left ear. Looking at it reminded her of the dream she had had, and her knuckles clenched a little. It was fine, she would forget about it and, tomorrow night, she wouldn't dream.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. Her own (well, _one _of her own, she had various burner phones used by various contacts).

She let her hair fall back across her face and took her phone from her pocket, turned from the mirror and leant against the sink.

The number was unknown but she already knew who it was.

"Romanoff," she greeted, "it's been a while."

"_Delgrave_," the woman returned the greeting without much warmth, but she wasn't a warm person.

"I'm guessing you're not calling for a spot of lunch, though," Ida checked the time, "I am free around one so…"

"_I'm not looking for lunch,_" said Natasha, "_but I'll get back to you on it._"

Ida smirked, "so, what's going on then? It's rare I get a call from the Black Widow herself, especially since you've become a superhero now."

"_I need your help with something._"

"_You_ need my help or SHIELD?"

"_Both._"

"Well, Romanoff," she left the bathroom and stopped in front of the window in her lounge, which gave an expansive view of the city around her. "You know my information doesn't come cheap."

"_It'll be compensated. I just need to meet with you. As soon as possible_."

"I'll see you tomorrow then," said Ida, "six. My office."

"_I'll be bringing a friend_."

"Well," Ida said, "I can't wait to meet them."

* * *

**A/N: Ta-da! Chapter one is done, chapter two will be up soon as it's practically done, I just need to sort out one scene. And, yes, Ida will be meeting Steve in the next one. I will be updating Hidden in Plain Sight first for any familiar readers but for now I hope you enjoy this and **_**please **_**leave a review :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: And, I'm back with another chapter pretty quickly. This one is a bit longer and contains a FUCK ton of content, such as Steve and Ida's first meeting (the sexual tension is of the charts) and some other stuff. So, please enjoy. But, first, as always, I'll get to the thanks.**

**CullenMia: Thank you! I'm glad you like Ida!**

**Guest (2): I'm glad you like it so far! And who knows what the future will hold, I'm pretty sure I didn't start doing incorrect quotes until like chapter thirty or something on Hidden in Plain Sight, so I think the story and the character relations will have had to develop before I do that.**

**Books-and-Cleverness-394: ASDFGHHJKL I'm glad you think Ida's a badass! The knives in the boots contraption in the last chapter was pretty fun to write in the last scene, and it may pop up again soon ;)**

_**Thanks to: dhnysports88, RAD092515, anothercarly, Chameleongallagher girl, xLaBellaVita, MatthewThePhantom, MarishkaTheUnderdog, PhoenixxReborn, lilybean123, CullenMia, Guest (1), TheRavenSlayer13, SasuSakuLover1619, Guest (2), Kezman1993, ArganRose, Visenyas, Assbitch67, Kira Kirya, nastycryptid, Books-and-Cleverness-394, FanFicEssie, Nick Melancon and Lauren212 for eitehr leaving a review or following/favouriting on the last chapter! Wow, a heck load of support already after one chapter! I hope this next chapter leaves you equally as satisfied.**_

* * *

**Chapter Two: America's Golden Boy**

_18th November, 2013_

_6:00pm_

"Are you sure there's no other way to get this information?" Asked Steve.

"Sorry if this isn't sticking to your moral code, Steve," said Natasha, who was driving. "But the only way we're going to get accurate information is through her."

"What if she lies to us?"

"She wouldn't," Natasha scoffed like the suggestion that she even would was stupid. "She's paid to tell the truth."

"And she'll tell _anyone _this information."

"For the right price."

Steve remained silent at this.

"I know she's not a morally upstanding woman," said Natasha, "but she has information no one else has. Besides, she has limits."

"Limits?"

"Information she seems too much," said Natasha, "she doesn't sell on. Once, she got information that a terrorist cell was planning to nuke a city. And she told SHIELD about how they would do it and how they even managed to get this technology. And the problem was sorted out quickly."

"Well, isn't she a hero," Steve said.

"She prevented millions of people's death."

"And, from the sounds of it, caused millions too."

"Technically, she sells information to good guys and bad guys. So it balances out."

He rolled his eyes and leant back in the car seat. The two of them were on their way to the office of this Delgrave woman. Steve wasn't entirely sure how much he needed to be there, Natasha was capable of handling herself. But, it was as the redhead said, things could get messy when interfering with Russian business, especially when you were an ex-KGB agent. He spared a look at the redhead, who had picked him up on the curb outside his apartment building and was no driving him even deeper into the city.

"Where's her office then?" He avoided voicing his complaints about getting information this way again.

"We're basically there," said Natasha, "apartment block, an expensive one at that. She lives and works there. A home-made business, I guess."

Steve said "huh" and left it at that.

They pulled up and, Natasha had been right, the apartment block did look overly expensive. Then again, if you could afford these kinds of things then why not? Natasha did also say it was a work and business kind of place. That was strange to Steve, but then working as an Avenger from your own home wouldn't really work out.

They approached the front entrance, Natasha grabbing the briefcase of money before they left the car, and buzzed the button for the top floor.

"_Name_?" Asked a man through the speakers.

"Romanoff," said Natasha, "we have a meeting."

A pause and then, "_of course, head straight up_."

The door opened and Natasha flashed a smile at Steve who entered the building with a bit more caution than his partner. He was not dressed in full gear, simply a t-shirt and jacket. He didn't need the SHIELD all the time, he could defend himself without as proved on several occasions. And he was pretty sure that Natasha almost always carried a gun on her, so there was that too.

They entered the elevator.

"What if she doesn't know anything?" He asked after a couple seconds of silence.

"Steve, seriously," Natasha tilted her head, "she'll _know_, believe me."

He got the hidden message behind her tone, which was to shut up, so did so for the rest of the ride up to the top floor. The corridor was painted white, with black carpets and black doors. Natasha approached one with the number 'ninety-two' in brass letters and rang the doorbell.

In no time at all, the door opened revealing a rather smart looking man dressed in a suit. He had wrinkled skin and dark hair flecked with grey, and a fully grey mustache. There was a blank expression on his face as he inspected the two, and then he opened the door fully.

"Miss Delgrave is waiting for you in her office," said the man, "if you'll follow me."

Steve and Natasha exchanged a look and then followed the man into the apartment. This room was obviously more of an entrance. A small, square space filled with a few paintings, a coat hanger and two doors. One, Steve assumed, led to the rest of the apartment while the other, which was where the man (perhaps a butler of sorts), was leading them to.

He opened the door and gestured for them to go inside. This was more spacious, but still modest. Large windows to one side gave a wide view of Washington DC, all the way to the Potomac river and beyond. And, there was a woman sitting at the desk, legs propped up on it, but she glanced up when she saw the two arrivals and a red-lipped smile spread across her face.

"Romanoff," she spread her arms wide before jumping to her feet, "it's good to see you again, old friend. You haven't been calling me."

Something about her voice told Steve that she was probably Russian, though it was only a slight accent in the way she pronounced certain words.

"You never gave me your number," retorted the redhead, though there was a small smile on her face as well.

"You managed to call me without it anyway."

The blonde grasped the redhead's hand firmly before turning to Steve. Her eyes flickered slightly and she tilted her head to the side, sparing a second to give him a scrutinising look. Steve had been looked at this by Natasha before, a quick examine to take him in. so, he did the same.

She looked fairly harmless, granted she was slightly taller than most women. Her hair was long and very blonde, matching the rest of her fair complexion. Apart from the eyes, her eyes were almost an eerie brown, their almost-black colour contrasting with the rest of her. She was dressed smart, but casually so, in a loose, off-the shoulder, white jumper tucked into a pair of black trousers. This was Ida Delgrave, he supposed. Undeniably beautiful, but with an air of mystery around her and that knowing smirk.

"And you're America's golden boy," she said, moving towards him.

He raised an eyebrow, she said it in a way that said she wasn't surprised. Had Natasha told her he was joining her?

"Romanoff didn't mention your name," she went on, reading his expression, "but I found out anyway." Of course she did. She offered her hand, "Ida Delgrave."

He inspected it for a second, before taking it, "Steve Rogers."

Her smirk widened for a second and she nodded, "pleasure to meet you, Captain."

She released his hand and walked back around her desk, gesturing to the two chairs.

"Take a seat," she said, "drink?"

"Not for me," said Natasha.

"No thanks," added Steve.

"You're loss," she said, walking over to a globe in the corner of the room, and opening it, revealing a mini-bar and pouring herself a drink. "So, this is a rather small duo. You keeping this mission quiet?"

"No," Natasha said lightly, "just investigating."

"Right," the blonde nodded and sat back down, now with a small glass of whiskey with ice. "Into rumours of a terrorist cell near Krasnoyarsk, right? Never been there, hear it's cold. Unsurprising, it _is_ Siberia."

"Can you confirm the rumours?" Asked Steve, sensing the woman was going off topic.

She glanced back at him, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip of whiskey before answering, "I can. _But_," she said, "you're going to have to give me something if you want anything more."

Natasha handed over the briefcase and Delgrave clicked it open, nodding to herself, before closing it.

"So?" Prompted Steve after a few seconds.

She inspected him for another couple of seconds and, he would admit, her gaze managed to be, somehow, more intense than the redhead assassin beside him could muster. He reckoned it was the eyes, they were so dark that, even as he stared right back at her, he could barely see anything in them.

And then she spoke, "there is a terrorist cell a few miles east of Krasnoyarsk, located in a small town called Uyar. They're only a small group, but from what I hear they've got plenty of artillery, they've been there for a good few months now."

"Any idea what group?" Asked Natasha.

"Not a Russian group," said Delgrave, "but an American one. The Liberty Renegades, is it familiar?"

Natasha frowned, "it is. But they haven't done anything for years."

"Who are they?" Asked Steve.

"The Liberty Renegades first came around in the late-fifties as the Cold War was reaching its peak," explained Delgrave, "used to go to various countries, mainly communist ones, and blow the places to shit in the name of America. They were widely liked for a period, but then the conflict began to de-escalate and, when their attacks didn't, they began losing popularity."

"Their last attack was in the mid-nineties," Natasha went on, "after they bombed a town in Nepal during their Civil War. they were all quickly arrested and the terrorist group went down. Not a word for years."

"But they're white supremaicsts," said Delgrave, "and American nationalists, crazy far-right. Them regaining support isn't _crazy_. I imagine that, whyever they're in Russia after years of silence, it can't be good. I imagine that, if they do launch an attack, it would raise tensions between over here and over there tenfold."

"'If?'" Steve raised an eyebrow, "you don't know?"

"I'm working on it," she said, a little indignantly, "this is a small group of Renegades. Yes, they have weapons but it's still small and still very far East. I can figure out their plan if you give me one more day to work on it."

"And will we need to pay extra?" Natasha looked at her.

"No, of course not," Delgrave said, "I'm not extortionate, I've barely given you enough information as it is. Come to me tomorrow and I'll tell you everything else you need to know."

Steve eyed her for a second, "how did you find this all out in the first place?"

"I'll keep my sources close to my chest," said Delgrave. "Let's just say that one of their ex-members was heard bragging in a bar."

"Which ex-member?" Asked Natasha.

Delgrave opened a drawer and pulled out a file with the words 'Highly Confidential' written on top of it. Steve didn't want to know how she had gotten her hands on that.

"David Thompson," said Delgrave.

The two SHIELD agents exchanged a glance.

"We'll bring him in for questioning," said Steve, "if he still has alliance with these 'Liberty Renegades—'"

"Which he does," interrupted Delgrave.

Steve looked at her before talking, "then he has grounds to be arrested again."

"How _lawful_ of you, Captain America," said Delgrave, raising an eyebrow at him. She was smiling, but in a smug sort of way.

"I just don't have much interest in letting an active white supremacist and known terrorist wander the streets."

She regarded him rather curiously for a moment, almost like she was trying to seek out some ulterior motivation but, when she didn't, the smile dropped into a frown and she took another sip of her drink before reaching into the drawer again.

"These are more copies of known associates of the Liberty Renegades," she said, "past, but a few current ones too. I can get you any more information by tomorrow. I'll call you."

Natasha took the files into her own hands and nodded to Delgrave, "thanks for the help."

"_Please_, it's my job," said the woman, "and you paid me."

The redhead smiled, "I guess that's a good point."

Steve didn't smile and maintained eye contact with Ida as he stood while she eyed him as she took a much longer sip from her drink. She looked away to wrinkle her nose at the strength of it before standing and clasping her hands together.

"Right," she said, "well, lovely seeing you, Romanoff. You too, Rogers, thanks for saving the world last year."

"It was a team effort."

"Humble," she smirked, "I like that in a guy."

He didn't respond at the obvious attempt in a flirt, he could tell the woman was having fun trying to annoy him and his generally stoic nature. Instead, he said, "thank you for the files."

"You're welcome, Captain," she said and the smirk didn't drop, "I hope you catch the bad guys."

Something about her expression said that she was joking, and didn't care either way. So, he responded with a simple nod and glanced back to Natasha who rolled her eyes.

"Martin will show you the way out," said Delgrave, leaning back against the desk and raising her drink, eyes still on him, "until next time, Avengers."

After the fairly brief meeting with the Woman of Whispers, Steve and Natasha found themselves in Fury's office to brief him on everything they had been told. The man didn't show any signs that he doubted any of it, so Steve supposed that this Ida Delgrave told the truth enough that everyone believed it. The potential that she had been lying was still there for him, but Natasha called it idiotic. The woman was paid for the truth and, if she was going to lie for the first time, it wouldn't be to SHIELD.

"An American terrorist group launching an attack on Russian soil would only serve to make tension between the two countries worse," said Fury, "why would they do that?"

"We don't know if they do have anything planned yet, but we will soon," said Natasha. "Besides, they're anti-globalisation, they believe America will do just fine as an isolated country. Causing conflict is _exactly _what they want."

Fury looked like he was thinking about it for another second before he said, "wait for Delgrave to get back with more information. The Renegades aren't doing much at the moment but I still need this kept on the downlow for now, international conflict never ends well."

"Wouldn't it be better to warn the Russians about this?" Asked Steve.

Fury fixed him with _that _look and it took the blonde a lot of strength to keep his mouth shut. SHIELD had a funny way of doing things, things he had to go along with to do what he thought was right and, you know, earn some money to live.

"We can't trust them not to use this against us," said Fury. But he didn't trust _anyone_, so this wasn't surprising. "When Delgrave gets more information to you, report back to me."

"Yes, sir," they both nodded.

"You're dismissed."

* * *

_The next day_

"Circe, off the kitchen counter, how many times do I have to ask you this?"

The black cat narrowed its eyes on her as she stretched, flexing claws and then standing upright, and then letting out a rather annoyed meow.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, "moan all you want. Off the counter, I don't want your hair getting everywhere."

Circe glared defiantly for a few seconds before giving up and jumping off the counter, sitting on the floor and beginning to wash herself. Ida rolled her eyes as she walked past. She walked back over to the bathroom, pushing her hair back and using a hair tie to keep it back. Two strands still framed the sides of her face, mainly to keep the scar out of sight.

Last night she had had the meeting with the two Avengers and had a separate one this morning with a couple of contract killers (the two weren't related, the second one was a fairly normal meeting). But the one with Natasha and Steve stuck in her mind. Maybe it was the guilt, which was rare for her to feel. But she was a woman who knew many things. Many of those things she elected, information too dangerous to let get out. And, things she couldn't share because it might get her killed. Her knowledge was valuable, but she wasn't invulnerable.

One of these pieces of information related to SHIELD, and it wasn't a pleasant things to know. She also knew that Natasha wasn't aware of this information and Ida had almost told her on more than one occasion, but hadn't. If she spread the truth regarding this matter, there would be no way to bargain her way out of the fatal consequences that would be in store for her. But it didn't help that her guilt had only worsened upon meeting the man out of time, Steve Rogers, himself.

But the Woman and Whispers has been burdened with knowledge for a long time. She simply had to push it down, not let it bother her and continue on with the information she had been paid to obtain.

She glared at herself in the mirror for a few seconds and headed on over to her office, where Martin was, sorting several files which she had left discarded on her floor and desk into labelled filing cabinets. He didn't say anything or regard her in anyway when she entered, that was the kind of man he was.

"Any news from Russia?" She asked.

"Not yet, ma'am," said the man as he closed a cabinet. "There has been no activity from your Russian contact. I would suggest contacting him yourself."

Ida considered this, "it's strange, isn't it? Usually I get plenty of updates from him. Radio silence is not in character for him."

Martin also seemed to think about this before saying, "perhaps there is a risk he has been compromised."

This made her frown, "let's not jump to conclusions yet, Martin."

He raised a weary eyebrow but, if he did have anything else to say, it was cut off by a mobile ringing. She checked her back pocket, but it wasn't that one. It wasn't the desk one either. The one ringing was actually one of the three phones stores in her top desk drawer. She took it out and checked the number.

"See," she said to Martin, gesturing to the screen, "he's not compromised."

Martin just stared at her, so she picked it up.

"Nikolai," she greeted, "you get any more updates for me?"

Ida heard her whispers through many different means. One of these means was through finding people in useful enough positions (whether that be jobs, locations, friends, family, etcetera) and paying them a suitable amount for them to give her information. It wasn't her primary method of receiving information, but it was convenient when she had an expansive network of contacts working for her all over the world. And Nikolai was one of them, located in Krasnoyarsk and had been the first person to inform her of a possible threat near the city. An office worker in a security business actually owned by Siberian officials, but he was a little meek in nature. Yet, he had proved himself effective over the years in the location he was in. So, his next words shook her to the very core.

"I'm at Baltimore international," he said with a Russian accent far thicker than her own. "Er– the airport."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "what are you doing there?"

"I– They found out I w–was trying to find information. I ran. I did not know where else to go so–"

"Woah, Nikolai, slow down," she said, "who found out?"

"Americans. Liberty Renegades."

She pursed her lips, "did you find out something?"

"Yes," his voice was shaky, "something very big."

Ida gritted her teeth, "there's a diner not too for from the arrivals gate. Wait there for me."

After a few more minutes of trying to get the man to calm down, she managed to convince him and Ida finally put down the phone.

"Will you be in need of a ride, Miss Delgrave?" Asked Martin.

She took in a deep breath and nodded, "yes, Martin, I think I will."

* * *

_The Diner_

_Next to the Baltimore/Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport_

Martin pulled up at the diner an hour and a half later when the sun was beginning to set over them. Ida thank her driver and got out. She wasn't unarmed, she would be a fool to come here weaponless when information like this was being passed around. She wore her long, cream coat which hid two guns inside the pockets, as well as several knives tucked into the back of her belt. And her boots, which contained knives inside of them too if she clicked her heels together.

There was no danger obvious when she entered. It was a small diner with fifties, rock n roll playing from a jukebox in the corner. Waiters served drinks and foods to different tables, and flashed smiles at their supposedly newest customer, Ida, who shook off their offers to get her a table, claiming she was here to just see a friend. The fluorescent lighting overhead allowed her to see the restaurant clearly, as well as everyone inside. But her main focus was on the man in a dimmer corner, where the light seemed to have gone out and had been replaced by a table lamp, which was giving off a yellowish hue.

Nikolai, she realised and walked over to him. He was a scrawny man, with thick, dark hair and eyebrows. From his height, appearance and the general way he held himself, he appeared to be no older than twenty-four or twenty-five, but he was actually in his mid-thirties. She had only met him once in real life to offer him the job as her contact, but had only stayed in touch over emails, phone calls, texts and letters (it all depended on the seriousness of the information).

"Nikolai," she said, "sorry it took a while. Traffic."

He jumped at her presence and his eyes darted around, looking for anyone else.

"Hey," she prompted, "care to explain what happened? Were you followed?"

He shook his head, hands jittering, "no, I don't think so."

"Why did you run?" Said Ida, "did they know you were watching them?"

Nikolai nodded, "the Liberty Renegades… I… I overhear what they say and— and, I listen and they say scary things. I thought that I needed to get out quickly, but they hear me and I run. I don't know if they saw me, but they hear me."

She nodded, frowning, "what did you hear, Nikolai?"

His face paled and he opened his mouth, but they were interrupted by a waitress coming to your table.

"Can I take your order?" She asked in a rather dull tone.

"Yes," she said, "black coffee for me and—" she glanced at Nikolai, "a pint of the strongest beer you have here for my friend."

The waitress nodded, jotting this down with a rather miserable expression, before nodding and leaving the table. Ida turned her attention back to Nikolai, whose face was still as white as a sheet.

"What did you hear?" She asked.

"I hear…" he leant forward and lowered his voice, "Они выпустят болезнь в Красноярске. В их воду." (They will release a disease in the city of Krasnoyarsk. Into their water source). His words made Ida swallow. "Он быстро распространится, многие умрут." (It will spread quickly, many will die).

"Bioterrorism," she murmured and leant back. Possibly far more effective than any other kind of terrorism when done right. She looked back up at Nikolai, "what type of disease?"

"The Silver Virus."

Ida was familiar with the Silver Virus, as was everyone born in Russia, especially those concentrated in Eastern regions. A devastating virus that spread like wildfire through water and fluids into other people's bodies, causing fits and seizures and decay in their bodies, spread up over the course of only a weak of pure agony. And then they would die. It had last hit during the height of the Cold War, when the poverty amongst the Russian people was at its greatest. It had wiped out many, and then gone away after quarantining those in infected areas or near them. Then, it was gone. Not heard from for decades, wiped out.

But, Ida knew everything. And she knew for a fact that there was a medical facility in Russia which had a concentrated dose of the disease, attempting to reverse-engineer a cure. But, obviously, these Liberty Renegades had gotten their hands on it and planned to unleash it on an entire city. Krasnoyarsk had a population of over a million. Ida had to get this information to SHIELD as quickly as possible.

"How did they get there hands on the virus?" She asked.

"Freak fire on medical research facility," said Nikolai, "considered an accident, but they could not find the sample. The Russian government keep this quiet and claim it is destroyed in the flames. But, fire actually caused by Renegades."

"Right," she bit her lip, thinking for a minute. "Thank you, Nikolai, for your help. You can stay in my apartment for the night and we'll get you a hotel until we can be sure you're safe."

There was relief in the Russian man's eyes.

"You're drinks," said a woman's voice.

The waitress. Ida looked up at her for a second and realised it wasn't the woman from before. Her voice was much perkier for one thing. That, and she had distinctive blue eyes and brunette hair. But… there was something… Ida could swear she hadn't seen her when she had entered the diner but, then again, she could've been in the kitchen.

"Thank you," Ida said, putting a gracious smile on her face.

"Would you like to order your food?"

"Please, give us another minute," said Ida.

She looked over her shoulder and waited until the waitress was gone. She glanced back at Nikolai, who was moving to drink the pint of beer in front of him but a sharp look from the blonde woman got him to stop. She ignored her own coffee and grabbed his drink and took a sip.

She swirled it around in her mouth for a bit and then spat it out. On the surface, it tasted like a nice enough beer but, after a quick swill, the bitter taste of rotten oranges came through.

"Poisoned," she hissed, looking up at Nikolai, "you were followed, we're leaving."

But, when she stood up, two shots rang out.

Ida pulled Nikolai to the floor and glanced up, narrowing her eyes at the waitress, who was holding a gun, confirming her suspicions about her.

"Hands in the air," said the waitress. "I see you flinch, even a little bit, I shoot."

Ida followed suit and kicked a frozen Nikolai in the side, causing him to shoot back to reality and do the same. The rest of the restaurant was cowering under the tables, including all those who were serving the tables.

"On your feet," she said, "_now_."

Ida rose up slowly, keeping her hands above her head. Nikolai did the same.

"Now," said the woman, "I don't want to shoot either of you, granted he's disposable and you aren't, Delgrave, but I will fire if I have to."

Ida's eyes narrowed at her and, then, she lowered her hands to reach into her coat. A bullet cut through the air but, Ida, knowing it was coming, side-stepped easily and pulled out her own gun, pointing it right at the waitress.

"Guess you could call this a Mexican stand-off," she said, tilting her head and smirking at her.

"No, I don't think so," said the waitress, "you're outnumbered."

A bullet went off behind her and she turned just in time to see Nikolai get a bullet in his head, and crumble to the floor. Ida paid his corpse no mind, he was dead now, and looked at the other attacker. A man, one she recognised from a bordering table, wearing very typical clothes. Grey shirt, khaki shorts. A basic outfit but it was so basic that Ida had hardly paid him any mind.

She aimed her gun at him, but she was very aware that the waitress was still ready to shoot her at any given chance.

"You don't have to die, Delgrave," said the man, "the Woman of Whispers helps everyone, including us, if you were dead it would be… unfortunate. However, we also know you intend to report what Nikolai here told you to SHIELD."

She gave away nothing, eyes scanning the environment and then back on him.

"We would prefer it," he went on, "if you kept quiet."

"If you know who I am," she said, "then you know how to keep me quiet."

"By not shooting you?"

"By naming the right price," she said, "if you want this to remain confidential, then all it takes is a big enough sum. So name it now, and I'll leave this diner like nothing happened."

He frowned, considering this and began, "we—"

He was cut off when Ida clicked her heels together, revealing a knife in her left boot. She stood on her right and twirled round in a circle, as graceful as a ballet dancer, but causing the knife to get caught in the throat of the man. She twisted her leg and the knife came out, and then bent her body backwards to avoid a bullet from hitting her straight in the head. She twirled back around and, before the waitress could think of firing again, she shot her in the face.

With both assailants down, and all the other customers and workers in the restaurant streaming out to get away from the bloodshed, Ida was alone. She clicked her heels again, the knives retracting back into her boots and wiping a stray hair out of her face. Thank God she had thought to tie it back today.

She left the diner, it was dark out now, and saw Martin calmly waiting by the car.

"Nikolai?" He prompted.

She shook her head, "dead. I need a phone."

He nodded and handed her one.

She paused, looked at it and dialed a number.

* * *

_The Triskelion_

_Washington DC_

"Steve," said a voice, making him look up, "there you are."

Steve, who had just been discussing something with Rumlow, glanced up. He nodded to the Strike team agent who seemed unbothered, and approached agent Romanoff.

"Is it Delgrave?" He asked.

She shook her head, "not quite. I was actually going to say that Fury just informed me that the Liberty Renegades mission is a no go."

"Why? We don't even know what's going on."

"Said the order came from Pierce and the World Security Council," said Natasha, "said there's no use in interfering in Russian politics now, not with things so tense."

Steve thought this was idiotic.

"Having an American Terrorist group filled with crazy nationalists is bound to make things more tense. What are the World Security Council doing?"

Natasha shrugged, "I'm not happy about it either. But they obviously know something we don't. Besides, Fury tells me the group is inactive and likely just hiding out in Russia for the time being anyway. If this gets major, we can look into it but, for now, there are more important missions."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. It seemed strange of Fury to put them on this mission based on rumours, and then dismissed them because 'there are more important issues.' Then again, this order came from the World Security Council rather than Fury. They were a powerful group, and maybe knew something SHIELD or Delgrave didn't. Or perhaps they were tackling this in their own way. And, if anyone was going to have the manpower and ability to take down a small, white supremaist terror cell, it would be them.

All the same, something didn't sit right with Steve. And, from the look on Natasha's face, she didn't look much more comfortable with the decision either. However, she had been working for SHIELD much longer than he had and this probably wasn't the first time she had received an order like this.

"If anything happens," she said, "I'll be sure to let you know. But, for now, it's best to just keep this under wraps. I mean, you've been doing missions non-stop for the past six months, Captain, perhaps it's good you take a break?"

"Only if you take a break too, Romanoff," he retorted.

She smirked and turned, "no rest for the wicked, I'm afraid. I'll see you tomorrow."

Her words made Steve realise how late it was. He glanced out the window, noticing that the sun had almost entirely set over the city. He just nodded to Romanoff, who had already walked off, and turned back, figuring he might as well call it a night as well. He didn't work nine-to-five, his hours were unpredictable and it was certainly messing with his sleep schedule. He decided to worry about this cancelled-mission tomorrow.

And, then, his phone rang.

Frowning when he didn't recognise the number, he picked up and said, "hello?"

"Boy Scout, thank God_,_" exclaimed someone with relief. A woman, lilt to her accent.

"Delgrave?" He blinked.

Ida was outside her car, Martin beside her.

"Listen, I can't explain this over the phone," she said, "but I need to meet up with you and Romanoff. As soon as possible, I don't care if you're sleeping or out on a dinner date."

"Delgrave, we were told to lay off the mission. We don't need the information anymore."

Ida paused. Of course, she bet this was linked to SHIELD's dirty secret that she knew. They would be more willing to let the Liberty Renegades cause chaos and raise tensions between the two countries than actually send someone in to stop them. But Ida doubted Steve knew _that _was the reason.

However, there was something in his tone as he said the words. Annoyance, she realised. He didn't understand why the mission had been cancelled, despite considering it important. She thought for a second.

She was a woman with messy morals, that was for sure. But a million people infected with a horrible virus? She had her limits. That's why she had killed the Renegade in the diner rather than waiting to hear if he could offer more. She had wanted to inform SHIELD about it. But they weren't going to do anything about it either way now. However… If she told a certain Avenger of her troubles, she might have someone willing to help out.

"SHIELD's been ordered off the mission, huh?" She said softly.

"Seems so," he said, "why did you call me anyway? Not Romanoff?"

"Because Romanoff's number is near-impossible to find without at least two hours of digging," explained Ida, "yours I got straight away. But, Captain, we still need to meet up."

"Why?" He wasn't dismissive, he was curious.

"What I found out about the Liberty Renegades' plan… It's major. My office, as soon as you can."

"Alright," he said, without hesitating. He wanted to continue with the mission, even if the World Security Council said no, and this was the way to do it. "Should I bring Romanoff?"

She thought about the way Nikolai had been shot.

"No," she said, "it's best to keep this between just the two of us now."

* * *

**A/N: And so the Woman of Whispers and Captain America begin their partnership. Oh boy, it's gonna be a rollercoaster of a relationship, I tell you. Also, disclaimer, I made up the Silver Virus so don't be googling that shit like it's real. Anyway, pls leave a review and,,, yeah :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Guys, gonna speak the truth, I wrote this story because I miss Steve Rogers and his ass and I just want him back :((( Also, sorry this chapter took a while, school is rolling back around and I'm going to sixth form now (the EXACT one I wanted to thanks to my exam results so phew), so things have been a little busy with homework (which still isn't complete) as well as editing the first draft of an original story, which is taking up time. But, I will try and get another chapter up before Wednesday which is when I go back, if I EVER finish this politics homework lmao. Anyway, once again a lot happens in this chapter because I can't take a minute to breathe, but also a lot of Ida and Steve and Ida is **_**hella **_**fun to write. **

**Hermione Romanoff: Apparently every female character I write must carry knives lol, granted Ida is going to be a lot less 'stab before thinking' unlike Adara. I'm glad you like Ida and the story so far though :)**

**Books-and-Cleverness-394: Damn, I just made the Silver Virus up on the spot and hoped it was passable enough lmao. Rly glad you love Ida though omg!**

**Sojie204: Ha, I probably will write a bit of jealous Ida, but not **_**too **_**much mainly because she is 'friends' with Natasha (it's a strange relationship).**

**21sshafrath: ADSHGASHD thank you so much omg! I'm glad you enjoy Hidden in Plain Sight so much and I hope this fic can fill that hole while it's on hiatus.**

**Zikashigaku: Yep, you're definitely on the right track there, Ida knows many things, some aren't so great things. And Irene Adler was **_**definitely **_**the kind of vibe I was going for with her so I'm so glad she reminded you of her :D**

_**Thanks to: CullenMia, Hermione Romanoff, CupcakeLoopy, Books-and-Cleverness-394, Edward Cullen's Girl, Jwangcap, , Littlecosma001, gilmorefreak23, PsychoFishHead, Vladvanmoria, Sojie204, 21sshafrath, WinchesterDixonBros, Alice-Hatter, ssdevi811, bookwriter123456, soxmanyxfandoms, redacrylics, tryxxi, Agashi, Thunderstrike16, zikashigaku, vixen122, H0rus, pearlfoot and lilybean123 for either leaving a review or following/favouriting on the last chapter! Your support means so much to me and I hope this chapter keeps you just as engaged as the first two!**_

* * *

**Chapter Three: Long Haul**

It was nearly midnight when Ida met up with Steve Rogers in a small, unsuspecting bar in the centre of Washington DC. At this time of night, it was quiet but not empty. A few people here and there and, this time, Ida felt slightly more confident that they were not terrorists in disguise. Though, there was no way to be sure.

She ordered a drink and sat at the bar sipping at it and waiting. Sure enough, he walked in five minutes later. His presence did not kick up a fuss, and got no more than a few sideways glances, probably just because he was a ridiculously buff man. It was that time of night, though, where people had seen stranger things, and so went back to their drinking.

Ida raised her drink and he eyed her in the rather judging way that he did, before sitting down next to her.

"You said to meet at your office," he said.

"Anyone could have been listening to that phone call," she pointed out, "here is more subtle."

"Lots of ears."

"They're not listening."

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm taking a chance," she sipped her drink again and then turned on the bar stall so her body was facing him. "You not ordering a drink?"

"There's no point," he said. "Doesn't have an effect on me."

"I guess that makes sense," she considered.

"Delgrave, what's your information?"

"I had a Russian contact staying in Krasnoyarsk, keeping an eye on the Renegades. He was supposed to call me or just get a message to me if he found anything but, instead, he found out something and flew straight over to America."

"Where's your contact now?"

"Dead."

"What?"

"He found out the Renegades plan," she said, "they couldn't have him running around. But he did manage to tell me before he bit it."

"What are they planning then?"

Ida propped an elbow up on the bar counter and leant a little closer to him, lowering her voice.

"Have you heard of the Silver Virus?"

"It's familiar," the man looked thoughtful for a second. "I learnt about it... Russian Revolution, few years before I was born."

Ida blinked, of course the time period he would remember it most from would be the one closest to his time. It was just strange hearing him say it, he looked so modern that the realisation that the twenty-first century was not his century was an odd one, even if she already knew it.

"Yeah," she nodded, "well, it struck again back during the Cold War. We're talking early sixties to seventies. But, the Russian government quarantined those infected and got rid of the virus, other than the sample which scientists were trying to reverse engineer a cure from."

Steve observed her for a second. He was a smarter man than people gave him credit for, and it wasn't difficult to guess where she was going to go with this topic.

"The Renegades have got the sample, haven't they?" He said, "bioterrorism."

"They're putting it into the city of Krasnoyarsk's water source," she said, "a million people live there."

He leant back on the stool, somehow managing to look angrily thoughtful as he took in her words. He remained silent so she took this as a lead to keep talking.

"My contact told me this," she said, "and we were then confronted by a pair of Renegades in a diner. He died, so did they."

"I should inform Fury–"

"No," said Ida which made his head shook up to look at her.

"Why not?"

"Because SHIELD is aware that the Renegades are a threat. But they're also aware that sending a strike team over to Russian soil isn't a good idea. Either way, if they were going to intervene, they would've done it the moment they heard about the American terrorists."

"Okay," he considered this with a nod. Ida got the hint that he, unlike Natasha, didn't trust SHIELD very much anyway. "Then we tell the Russian government."

Ida gave no signs that she was surprised at 'we,' but also shook her head, "the Russians are about as good as the Americans. I can say that, I'm Russian. But they'll somehow spin the problem as being on the American government. Either way, tensions go up."

A flash of frustration covered his features, "what do you suggest we do?"

"Deal with this quietly," she said. "I know Russia well, I have a lot of contacts there. We can stop this plan before it even gets off the ground."

"Are you suggesting we work together?" He didn't look like he believed her much. "How much would I have to pay you to do that?"

This time, frustration crossed her features and she fixed him with a fierce look. He was suddenly reminded of how dark her eyes were in comparison to the rest of her features.

"I know what you think of me and my job, Rogers," she said. "But I do what do to get by. And, yeah, sometimes I do shitty things because I'm a shitty person. However, I have no interest in witnessing a million people suffer and die thanks to some American bio-terrorists. I'm not evil."

The man blinked, but that was the only visible reaction he gave to her words. He was impressively stoic, almost annoyingly so.

"You don't need my help, that's fine," she stood up, off the stool, "go tell SHIELD, go tell the Russian government. But, if a million people end up with one of the worst viruses on the planet, don't blame me."

"Ida," he said just before she could turn and leave.

If he had said 'Delgrave,' she would've still paused. But no one called her 'Ida' anymore, not for a long time. Hearing the name come from someone else was a shock. And he had no idea, he was just looking at her. The name had probably just slipped out thoughtlessly, and he probably had already forgotten he had said it already.

"Are you sure the best way to deal with this is quietly?" He asked.

"It's the only way," she said, "if the Renegades catch on that a big organisation is onto them, they'll speed up their plan."

"And do you think we're able to stop them?"

"I know we are," she said.

"Okay," he said. Any judgement in his eyes was gone. "I trust you."

Trust her? Everyone trusted her, her job relied on people trusting her to tell the truth. And tell the truth she did. Still, again, it was strange to hear someone say it. People only trusted her on a surface level, they trusted her to give them what she wanted for the right price. And maybe that was all Rogers meant. But the question was, did she trust him? No, she didn't, but she didn't trust anyone. She had met him twice now. Then again, if you were going to trust anyone, it would be the bold and righteous Captain America, wouldn't it?

"The Baltimore-Washington airport," she said, and then downed the rest of her drink before continuing. "Tomorrow. Midday."

He inspected her for another second. She would admit it, he had an intimidating way about him, only helped by his tall stature and ridiculously broad shoulders. They said that, before he was injected with the serum, he was a skinny think who was hardly over five foot four. Strange.

And then he said, "I'll see you then."

* * *

_The Next Day_

_November 20th, 2013_

_Baltimore/Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport_

Steve didn't know what he was doing.

He wasn't sure if he was in over his head or putting too much faith in this Delgrave or both. Either way, he wasn't a hundred percent confident in his actions. He _was _sure he was doing the right thing, that was one thing he would always be certain of. It was Ida Delgrave he was more… uncertain about. He trusted her word, and she seemed genuinely furious when he had made the remark about money to her. And maybe she wasn't a terrible person, granted Steve had no respect for the work she did. However, for the two of them to be working on this together? Now that was more than a little odd.

But Steve didn't trust SHIELD on this (which was fine, it wasn't the first time he had ignored the word of his government when they had told him to stand down), and Ida didn't seem to trust anyone else. So maybe it was just the two of them after all.

But it was a strange partnership, and Steve had _no way _of telling how it was going to go. And maybe that was what made him so uncomfortable.

However, he obviously wasn't _that _uncertain as he drove up to the designated meeting spot outside the Washington-Baltimore airport. He parked his bike and grabbed his bag, slinging it over one shoulder. He was far from 'undercover,' just wearing more comfortable clothes and a pair of sunglasses. But, in the chaos of the departures area of an airport, no one really looked up from their suitcases and boarding passes to may much mind to Captain America walking amongst them.

It was easy to spot Delgrave who, against a sea of hurried families trying to find security, was leaning calmly against wall and talking down a phone. Despite the fact that she was wearing a casual boots and jeans, she still somehow manahed to pull it off elegantly. Perhaps it was the expensive-looking coat, or the branded sunglasses, or maybe it was just the general way she held herself, but she maintained that untouchable air around her.

When she spotted Steve, a smile spread across her face, that was more of a smirk, and she ended her call and walked over to him.

"Good," she said, "I was worried you wouldn't show."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, SHIELD's policies on vacation days are unknown to me. And, to be completely honest, I got the feeling you didn't like nor trust me very much."

"I called Fury," he explained, "he didn't seem bothered when I told him not to call me in for a week. He said I needed a break, unless the world ends while I'm gone."

"Well, here's to hoping the world won't end."

"And, to be honest, I don't know if SHIELD agents get vacations days."

"Yikes," she said, "maybe you guys should form a union."

"We did. The Avengers."

She laughed and pushed her sunglasses back so they sat on top of her head, pulling her blonde hair out of her face and allowing him to see her dark eyes, that were boring into him curiously.

"You didn't respond to my other point," she said.

He paused, thinking, before answering honestly, "I don't like what you do. But I don't know _you_."

She studied him carefully and nodded, "works for me. Come on, I got us a flight."

"What? We flying commercial."

"No, no," she scoffed and began walking away from the airport entrance, indicating for him to follow. "I can't get Captain America through TSA without raising a few eyebrows. No, know a guy. Pilot. He owes me a favour?"

"Oh yeah?" He frowned, "what did you do for him to owe you?"

"I told him who put out the hit order on his wife," she said.

"And he handed the person into the police?" He said, already knowing what she'd say.

"Nope, he killed them."

"Thought as much."

"Anyway, I gave him the information for free because I felt bad for him. But, now, I can use it for this," she shrugged, "all works out in the end. What do you think, Boy Scout?"

"I think that you gotta stop calling me that."

She had no snippy comeback, but tilted her head back to look up at him and smirk, before she flicked her sunglasses back down over her face. She led him to a tall, metal gate which, when looking through it, led to the airport runway, around where the smaller aeroplanes were parked. A man with a rifle was standing guard but, when he saw the two approaching, he nodded to Ida and buzzed the gate open. Steve tried not to think _too _hard about the security implications of that.

"Captain," said Ida, guiding him over to a small, fairly vintage looking aircraft that reminded him of something more from his own day. A rather stout man was standing in front of it, waiting for them. "This is Jacob," she introduced, "he's our pilot and will be getting us to Krasnoyarsk airport."

"Wow, Captain America," breathed an awed Jacob, "it is _such _an honour."

Steve took his outstretched hand and shook it once, "how's the wife Jacob?"

He looked surprised before answering, "oh… She's fine. Thanks to Miss Delgrave here."

"And how are the men you killed?"

"Erm…"

"Anyway," Ida clapped her hands together, stepping between the two, "leads head out. Eight hours, no breaks, we're in for a long haul flight."

"Straight to Krasnoyarsk airport?" He checked.

She nodded, "straight there. No stops." She looked at Jacob, "are my things on board?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Great, I just need to quickly call Martin and we're out," she then added with a glance at Steve, "he's looking after business. And cat sitting."

"You have a cat?"

"See?" She smiled again, this time without a smirk, "now you're starting to get to know me."

An hour in, Ida said.

"We're about seven hours off from landing. So, it'll be about seven when we land according to our inner clocks, but closer to two in the morning over there."

"So what?" He looked up from the tablet he had been looking over, filled with information about the Liberty Renegades. "We're gonna take a nap when we get there?"

"I just think it would be better to be running on Russian time instead of doing everything at five o'clock in the morning," she said, "unless Captain America is unaffected by time zones."

"He is."

"Does he sleep?"

"He does."

"Then it's best to sleep when we get there," she said with more of a curtness in her tone now. Steve got the feeling she wasn't used to being argued with. Then again, he did actually agree with her, so it wasn't much of an argument anyway. "I've got a hotel booked, two rooms, nothing luxurious. Hope that doesn't bother you."

"Delgrave, you're richer than me and I grew up during the great depression."

"Yeah," she tilted her head to the side, "weird that. Thought, if we're making it a competition, I grew up in Soviet Russia."

He rolled his eyes. So he _didn't _want to make it a competition.

They had been on the plane for about an hour now, and this was the first time either of them had engaged in a conversation. Not that the silence was awkward between them, it was a mutual agreement of 'we might be working together, but that doesn't mean small talk is necessary.' Besides, Ida wasn't sure whether small talk with Captain America was possible. What was she going to ask him. 'Hey what did you do last week?' His reply to that would probably be along the lines of 'save the world' or something. In comparison, Ida had probably inadvertently caused a civil war in some countries because of some of the information she leaked. To say they didn't have much in common would be an understatement.

"I have another contact in Krasnoyarsk," she said after about half a minute of silence, "he might now where the Renegades are hiding out."

"So we talk to him?"

"It's probably better if I just I talk to him," she said. "No offence Steve, but you are Captain America and my contact does work for the Russian government. I don't want to kick up too much of a fuss."

"So what do I do?"

"We're gonna need a car."

"You want me to hire a car?" He gave her an unamused look.

"Don't complain," she snorted, "my contact would recognise you and I'd rather not have people knowing that I'm working with Captain America."

"What? Would it ruin your reputation?"

"Something like that," she glanced back at her tablet. "People won't really recognise you without the suit. As you can guess, Captain America isn't an overly popular figure in Russia. But I don't want to risk it."

"What? Am I not taught in schools," he meant it jokingly.

Ida shrugged, "I imagine not. But I grew up in Soviet Russia and, let me say, there was a lot of propaganda." She looked up. "You Americans really pushed the 'Captain America kills communists angle' while the Russians just mocked you."

"Glad I had a legacy," he remarked, unaffected by the history lesson. Ida imagined he already knew it. "You watch a lot of propaganda?"

She laughed but didn't look up, "you could say that."

"Sounds like you don't have a lot of love for your childhood."

She looked up at him and tilted her head, fixing him with piercingly dark eyes. "Russia wasn't a pleasant place to grow up. Not for me, at least. Ask Natasha, I'm sure she'll say the same thing."

"You two have a history?"

"More than that," she said. "We trained together for a little while. And then she almost killed me a few years later."

"You worked for the KGB?"

Ida shook her head, "I had betrayed mother Russia while I was still a teenager. I never got time to join the KGB."

She didn't say anything else and Steve didn't prompt her to say much more, knowing when he had reached his limits. He was trying to gage the kind of person Ida was, but it was difficult to do when you only knew so little. Steve knew little about Natasha's history too, other than that she was an assassin for the KGB before SHIELD, and she had rather brutal training. At first, he would've presumed the same for Ida but it was obvious she had split off paths with the redhead while they were still both quite young. But Natasha was a fighter, Ida wasn't. While he didn't doubt she could fight, it wasn't what defined her. She had formed a business around herself, sold information which had made her more than a little rich.

So he knew Ida was smart, in a way different to Stark and Banner. But that was about it. Her moral compass was weak, but she still had one evidenced by the fact that she was more than willing to help stop the Renegades. What were her limits? He had no idea. He didn't know what to think about her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Prompted Ida.

"Hm?"

"You're looking rather thoughtful over there, Boy Scout," She said.

He ignored the use of the nickname again and said, "you sure we can pull this off? With only two people?"

"Sure," she nodded, "strike teams are fun and all but it gets messy. Too much risk. A smaller team? Less people are likely to get hurt and it's easier to be stealthy." Her eyes narrowed at him, "you can be stealthy, right?"

"I once broke into a Hydra base on my own," he said, "is that stealthy enough."

She smirked, "humble. But that proves what I mean, you single-handedly freed all those soldiers from that base without setting off one alarm."

"Then again, I think security was laxer in the forties."

"We're going to Siberia, Rogers," she snorted, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

They landed seven hours later when it was dark out. Steve was the first to get out, Ida staying behind to say a few words to the pilot. The air was crisp and cool, his breath crystallising in the air. The airport was small and quiet, especially at this time of night. But it was lit up enough to allow Steve to see that the tarmac had been covered in grit but anything around it was covered in snow that looked to be a good few inches deep. He supposed it was early winter and, even though they weren't that far east, it was only inevitable that it would be freezing cold. It wasn't snowing at the moment though, the sky was clear and pitch black aside from a large, half-moon and the stars. More stars than you could see in Washington, that was for sure, but the city lights of Krasnoyarsk didn't allow the night to shine too brightly.

"Quiet," he remarked to Ida who had just stepped off the plane.

"It gets busier around January time," she said, "the place has got some great ski resorts. Hey, what do you make of this?"

She handed him a phone. He read the text on screen, "we need to meet now."

"Is this your contact?" He checked.

She nodded and took the phone back off of him, "text just came through when we landed. Seems a little suspicious, I told him we'd meet in the morning."

"Maybe he's discovered something," Steve paused, "or someone's discovered him."

Ida contemplated this and shrugged, "I should so see what he wants. Hey, do you know how to Hotwire a car?"

He ignored the question, "Delgrave, the Renegades are tracking down your contacts. They probably know what you're doing and why you're here. You can't go alone."

She looked at him, "I'm Ida Delgrave. I'm involved in everyone's business, I doubt it's a surprise to them. You, however, they don't know about. And I'd rather keep it that way."

"What happened to 'get some sleep?'"

"You're welcome to nap if you want to," she said, "the hotel isn't far. But my contact says it's urgent and, if it _is _urgent and he's anything like my last guy, he hasn't got long left to live. So I best talk to him while I can. Can you hotwire a car?"

This time, he didn't ignore the question.

"Yes," he said.

She blinked, "I mean, I can too. But that wasn't the answer I was expecting."

"You know, I don't actively call myself Captain America," he said, "that's what everyone else does."

"I've seen clips of you in _that _suit," she snorted, "anyone who dresses like that can't expect to be called anything else other than 'Captain America' or maybe just a twink."

"How much longer do you plan on standing around here insulting me?"

"Sorry, did I hurt your feelings?"

"Delgrave, if anyone was going to hurt my feelings with their opinion, it isn't going to be you."

She paused and then smiled again, but this time it was slightly more… cracked. "That's fair," she said and then grew serious. "I need a ride to meet my contact at his location. If you can hotwire a car, do it. If you're so anxious that the Liberty Renegades are onto me, then come with me but stay in the car. I want to keep you on the down low still."

Steve was ready to argue, he thought Ida insisting she should go alone was stupid. But she was stubborn, probably not as stubborn as he could be (and if you had asked his old friend Bucky how stubborn that was, he would say _very_), but she was stubborn enough for him to back down. On this one occasion.

"Okay," he said, "we do it your way."

* * *

_The outskirts of Krasnoyarsk_

_About 03:00AM_

Steve stole a car (or 'borrowed' as he called it) from the parking lot of the airport in less than ten minutes. From there, it was only a half an hour drive to their location. A small office building for government workers towards the edge of the city. The airport itself was a good few miles away from the city centre anyway, and this building wasn't much closer. It was dead silent when they pulled up, barely a sound other than the wind and the car engine shutting off. But, when Ida looked up at the building, she could see a light on near one of the top floors. Granted, there weren't that many floors. It was an ugly building, grey and almost looked to be rotting away right in front of them. One of the windows was boarded up on the lower floor, and the one next to it had glass that was cracked, and no one had bothered to fix it.

"Nice place," remarked Steve.

"Like Washington is much better," muttered Ida before opening the car door. "If I'm any longer than ten minutes, be worried."

"Right," he nodded, "and if I hear any shouting, I'll also be worried."

She nodded and closed the door behind her, tapping the pocket of her coat, finding it quite reassuring to feel the solid shape of a handgun tucked away. With one last, over the shoulder look to the super soldier in the stolen car, she headed inside.

The lights turned on automatically as she stepped inside the building, but she paid it no mind. She ignored the elevator to, and went straight up the stairs. The inside was nicer than the outside. Clean floors, white walls and fake plants dotted around. It was easy to tell that this was a space that was worked in and, while the exterior made it looked rather run-down, the inside said that at least the employees cared about their environment.

Her contact, whom she couldn't remember the name of, worked up on the ninth floor, which was the second highest floor and was not too much of a trek to get up to. She pushed open the door and exited the stairway to a long corridor, where one wall was white and plain, whilst the other was windows, looking out onto a snow-covered city, lit up at night and covered in graffiti. Not many cars were driving by. Quiet.

She glanced around, narrowing her eyes and surveilling the area, before turning on her heel and walking towards the office door labelled '902' and pushing it open.

"Дерьмо," she swore when she walked in.

The office was obviously kept fairly tidy. White walls with a few art pieces and family photos hung up, as well as shelves filled with research books. A couple cabinets stood either side of the desk in the centre, where there sat an open laptop as well as a few empty folders and a vase with a few flowers inside to add a little greenery to the room. But Ida paid this no mind as she saw a hand stick out from behind the desk.

Sighing, she walked around to see blood pooling out around a body on the floor. She poked him with his toe, but he didn't move. Dead, three bullets in the chest, recent too. She had probably been late by only ten minutes. But, if he had been killed so soon, then that meant…

"Hands in the air, Delgrave," said someone, an American, behind her and she felt a gun press against the back of her neck.

"Listen," she said as she raised her hands up, not turning to look at her attacker, "I'm sure we can talk about this."

"Nu-uh," they said, "you're information might still be useful to us, but I do have orders to shoot you if necessary."

This made her pause and her eyes flickered from the body, to the vase on the desk. "You know who I am," she said, "then you'll know my information come for a price."

"And the price this time will be that you get to live."

"I'm not a cheapskate," she said, "I expect a little more than that."

"Well—"

She turned suddenly and clicked her boot heels together, once again revealing a blade from the toes of her shoes. She jabbed him in the thigh before grabbing the vase from the side and smashing it around his head, making him bleed and crumple down to the floor.

But he wasn't alone, she knew that and pulled out her gun. She shot out the window beside her, knowing it would alert Steve had he not heard anything yet, and pointed it back towards the door where she spotted three men coming towards her. She shot the first one and, when the other two began firing, ducked under the desk. She heard the bullets scrape the wood over the table, soaring over her head by a few inches and waited until one needed to reload…

She was up again in a flash, shooting the one closest twice, and the one furthest once. She marched out the office, shooting the second one again just for good measure, and heard more footsteps.

"Shit, how many people do these guys have?" She muttered to herself before booting it down to the stairway.

She opened the door, to be confronted by one man wielding a knife. She ducked under his swipe and shoved him to the edge of the railings and then, with an uppercut to the throat to weaken him, shoved him right over the edge. She heard his head crack against the floor a second before more men burst through the door to follow her.

She vaulted back over the railing but didn't crash to the bottom, instead catching herself on the opposite set of railings and swinging her self back over and shooting the attackers before running down. She estimated two more, but that was probably the lot of them.

They were firing at her, and she was barely able to dodge the bullets before she suddenly slowed and turned around, back hitting a wall and firing more times than she could count. She heard an 'oof' followed by stumbling, and saw one of the men tip over the railings and, just like their friend, fall down to the bottom. While the other one stumbled, only shot in the knee. Her eyes narrowed as she aimed, the bullet going straight through his head, causing him to crumple down and collapse, his corpse slipping down a couple steps before stopping.

Ida paused but heard no more, so retracted the blades in her boots and headed down the rest of the stairs, though she didn't put away her gun.

And, it was a good thing she didn't because, when she reached the bottom, she was met with a handgun to the face.

"The Woman of Whispers," said the man pointing it at her. A pale, rather beefy man with a shaved head and a small scar across his chin. "You're certainly more formidable than stories made you out to be."

Ida eyed him, "the stories don't usually talk about my fighting, just my talking. Shame you won't be around much to hear me."

She raised her gun and fired.

_Click, _out of ammo! Damn.

"Spoke to soon," the man remarked, "I'll make this easy for you, considering you're not making it easy for yourself. You either come with me and tell us what we want to know for _free_. Or, you die standing there."

"What?" She raised an eyebrow, "can't I scoot a couple inches over to the left? Because that definitely seems like a more comfortable place to die in."

"We don't have all night, Delgrave," he hissed, "you either live or you die, it's not a matter of playing games."

She pouted, "but I love games."

"Is that why you're here?" He said, "the infamous Ida Delgrave, who sells information to anyone. What are you trying to do? Stop us? Why you? Why do you care?"

"I don't think that giving a million people a virus that will kill them is right."

"But giving a terrorist information that will destroy a town filled with women and children is?" He laughed, "I know who you are, you Russian Scum. You're no better than I am." Ida wasn't a fan of being compared to a white supremacist, but let him finish talking. "So, tell me, honestly this time, why are you here?"

She sighed and looked at him for a few seconds.

"Answer the question."

"Sorry," she said, snapping out of it, "I was just wondering if the last face I see before I die will really be _your _ugly mug."

His expression contorted with anger, "so be it—"

The gun went off and, though it should have hit her, skimmed past Ida and pinged off the wall beside her rather pathetically. Ida glanced at it and then back at the attacker, who was currently on the floor after being knocked out by none other than Steve Rogers.

"You took your time," she said. "I've taken down about eight men while you were in the car, what took you?"

"I was just thinking of the best way to say 'I told you so,'" he smiled at her. Smug and small, but a smile all the same.

She tutted, "whatever, Boy Scout. My contact's dead, we've lost our lead as to where there base is and what they could be doing next."

"Maybe you need a new contact," he said and looked down at the man he had just knocked out.

Ida peered at him too. A Renegade, and clearly a man who knew _something_. A smirk grew across her face.

"Maybe you're right, Rogers. We're not done yet."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, banter between these two is so much fun to write. Also characters calling each other by their second name? Aesthetic. However, there is a slight problem as in I've wrote the city name Krasnoyarsk about twenty times now and it does **_**not **_**get any easier to spell. I would've chosen an easier city or just made up one but it's too late now. This fic is kind of becoming a frenemies to lovers kind of thing, and I don't mind because I am **_**really **_**enjoying this.**

**Expect the next chapter in the not-so-distant future, but in the meantime, I've got about ten hours of homework to do so let's see if I can cram it all in three hours. Feel free to drop a review if you enjoyed the chapter :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I wish I had done lyrics in each chapter like I did for Hidden in Plain Sight because I've found some sounds that REALLY fit this story. Oh well, I'll probably make a playlist once I've got enough chapters to warrant one. Sorry this chapter took a bit, I'm very tired and school has already been quite exhausting. Writing of this chapter was slowed down, and it was going to be longer than this but I changed my mind, I just want to get it out now. This story is moving a long way quicker than I was expecting, though I say that pretty much every chapter now. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!**

**Hermione Romanoff: Thank you! And I'll be sure to check it out when I've got the time, life is a bit chaotic at the moment but reading fanfic does seem to help :)**

**21sshafrath: I could never get tired of your reviews omg I love them. I'm struggling a bit with Hidden in Plain Sight at the moment but luckily this story seems to be much easier to write but Adara will return soon once I've got my life together. I'm glad you enjoy this story!**

**Zikashigaku: Their banter is the best part to write so I'm really glad you enjoy it. **

**Spanieluver1973: Thank you for pointing it out lmao! I knew something like that was going to happen eventually, I've gone back to fix it now but seriously thank you for pointing it out. And Ida's face claim is Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, she features in the cover of the story. **

_**Thanks to: Hermione Romanoff, 21sshafrath, LadyAmazon, zikashigaku, Spanieluver1973, WinchesterDixonBros, isselon, Sojie204, April2016, Apollofan210, NotRob, frozenrose09, MommaWolf18, HuntressForTheWolves, Secretkeeper2016, DragonLols, Thunderstrike16 and kelbell79 for either leaving a review or following/favouriting on the last chapter! We're already at 50 follows which is AHHHH.**_

* * *

**Chapter Four: A Night at the Gala**

_The Next Morning, about 5am_

_Hotel_ _Room_ _407_

_Krasnoyarsk, Russia_

Ida sighed as she bought the brush through her hair. She was in the bathroom of her own room, having only woken up about twenty minutes prior. Her makeup was lighter, just enough to cover the dark shadows that she had noticed when she had woken up. She supposed it made sense, her nights lately seemed to involve staying up and almost dying, and last night had been no exception. However, it had all worked out in the end.

Last night, after taking down all the Renegades, Steve and Ida had dragged one of the knocked out members to the car, and then through the hotel checkout. This raised a few eyebrows, until Ida explained that he had had a little too much to drink, and then the receptionist had instantly understood. They had dumped him in one of the rooms they had booked, tied to a chair. Steve had suggested they take turns watching him just in case he woke up early, saying he would go first. But Ida had woken up that morning without ever having to take a shift watching him, and Steve hadn't seem to minded, meaning he did it on purpose. She didn't bring it up, she was relieved to get a good few hours of uninterrupted sleep in.

"How long do you have to spend in there?" Ida heard Steve say through the door.

She rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror, and placed the brush back on the sink. Her blonde hair was slightly curlier than usual today, but not messy. And she was just wearing a white jumper rather than anything more over the top. She supposed keeping it simple wasn't always bad.

"A girl has to get ready, Boy Scout," she called back.

"For half an hour?"

"It's only been twenty minutes."

"No it hasn't."

She checked her watch. Okay, maybe he had a point.

She left the bathroom to Steve who was leaning against the wall with an eyebrow raised. She simply tutted at him.

It was a fairly decently sized room, with a TV that only showed Russian channels and a menu for breakfast and room service, which neither of them had paid much attention to. There was only one double bed in the centre but technically, this was Ida's room, not Steve's as she had made sure to book two rooms. However, with their new… guest, it made things complicated.

The Renegade was currently tied to a chair in the corner of the room, still unconscious from where Steve had punched him round the head last night before he could shoot Ida.

She glanced at him and said, "are you sure that lunch didn't like… kill him?"

"Why would it?"

"Because you're like beefy," she gestured to him, "and he's skinny. Most people can't take a punch from Captain America."

"It's fine. It was a light punch."

"I imagine a light punch from you can give someone serious brain damage."

"Well, I guess we'll find out when he wakes up."

"_If _he wakes up."

He shot her a look. She just smiled at him.

"How do you plan on getting the information out him?" Asked Steve.

"I'm good at talking to people, they all have something they want to say in the end," she explained, "and I can find the way to make them say it."

"Torture?"

She pulled her face and shook her head, "no, I don't have the stomach for that. Been through it enough for once in my lifetime."

He looked at her curiously, but said nothing more.

She grabbed her bag and pulled out the gun she had used last night. Steve didn't bat an eye as she began cleaning it out, legs crossed over one another. But even while she was doing it, she was watching him under a hooded gaze, question on the tip of her tongue.

"If we can't get any information from him," said Ida, nodding to the Renegade. "Or he genuinely doesn't know anything, what then?"

"Then we find another way," he said as if it was that simple.

"What if there is no other way?"

"There's always another way," he said in a way that was both reassuring and determined. "What would you do?"

She leans back against the backboard of the bed and glanced at her gun, thinking about it. "I don't know," she admitted after a few seconds. "As you can imagine, it's not the moral dilemma I get into most of the time."

"I think most people can say the same."

"And you're not most people, Rogers," she said. "You pushed a plane down in the ice with yourself in it, fully thinking you were going to die."

"I had to do it," he said, "I'm going to be honest, I didn't imagine you would care that much."

"I don't," she shrugged, "I just like interesting people. And you're an interesting person."

"So you like me?"

She smirked, "you're not so bad, Boy Scout."

He observed her for a second and then opened his mouth to say something else before they heard something. Ida's head instantly turned to the tied up Renegade, who seemed to be slowly stirring, eyes still shut but hands tugging against the zip ties binding his hands. He then opened them and glanced down, confused.

Ida exchanged a look with Steve, gesturing for him to do the talking. Ida needed to gage what this group thought of him, he was Captain _America_ after all, and they were a bunch of nationalists.

"What…" the man said, "where…?" He looked up to see Steve staring down at him and scoffed and then blinked. "Am I dead?"

"Not yet," said Steve.

The man glanced around to see Ida sitting on the bed, gun laid out in front of her as she cleaned it. She smiled at him, he sneered back at her. He had called her _Russian Scum_, which was a reminder that, while she was white, this supremacist still had no love for her because she wasn't America.

"Captain America working with a Russian," he laughed, "I'd never thought I'd see the day. Though…" he glanced between the two, "not much of a task force."

"We're going to ask you some questions," said Steve tersely, "are you going to cooperate?"

He laughed, a grin appearing on his face, "thanks for asking, Captain, I don't. Am I free to go?"

"What do you think?"

"You know, I like the idea of you, Captain," said the Renegade, "every American does. I guess you're the real life Gatsby, American dream and all." Ida and Steve exchanged a confused glance at this. Neither had studied American literature. "But, in real life, you're not what they make you seem."

"You're a Neo-Nazi," said Steve calmly, arms folded, "I learnt to punch people like you in the face. But I've been a bit rusty lately, so if you want to be my next punching bag then keep talking."

Ida sniggered, this earnt her a glare from the Renegade. She pushed herself off the bed and moved to stand by Steve, looking down at the man with a coy smile on her face.

"I'm sure you know that most of my contacts in the Krasnoyarsk area have been wiped out thanks to your group," she said. "That's fine because you're going to tell us what we need to know."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because it's just easier," she said. "Why put yourself through more difficulties? Just tell us and be over it. Move back to America or Canada or whatever other countries you can tolerate and be on with your life."

"No, we're going to arrest him," said Steve.

She turned to him, teeth gritted, "I know, it's called bluffing. Work with me here."

"I have no interest in telling a Soviet bitch anyway," said the Renegade.

Ida fixed him with a dry, "no, of course you don't."

She glanced back at Steve who rolled his eyes and took the lead.

"Where are you based?" Asked Steve.

The man said nothing.

"We know it's near Uyar," Ida elaborated, "maybe a couple miles out? I imagine you'd have to be based near some kind of town for supplies. But far enough away to not raise too many eyebrows at why there are a bunch of Americans in the middle of Siberia, a couple months out of the skiing season."

"It doesn't make a difference what you say to me," he said, scoffing and leaning back, "I'm not telling you anything."

"But you'd have to have some kind of cargo coming in," said Steve, catching onto what Ida was doing, "because you burnt down the facility containing the Silver Virus and got away with it. That's gotta take some high tech."

"But you'd also have to have someone based _in _Krasnoyarsk, right?" She tilted her head to the side, "that's how you managed to track down my contacts."

"Which means you have spies everywhere," said Steve, "which, honestly, is quite clumsy on your behalf. Lots of spies are easy to track, there can only be so many Americans in one city."

The Renegade scoffed, obviously the pride of his organisation wounded, "we don't need a million spies. Martell is good enough on his—"

He paused, realising his mistake.

It was one of Ida's favourite tactics, leading the person they were talking to straight into the trap of leaking information, and obviously Steve was familiar with it too which was why he had followed suite. The Renegade was a man of pride, for himself and for the organisation he worked for. Pointing out a weakness was annoying enough for him to quickly defend his group and, by that point, he had been so caught up in his own hubris that he had said the words he shouldn't.

"Martell?" Repeated Steve, "who's that?"

But the Renegade would not say anything else now, he would bite his tongue and inwardly beat himself up for his mistake.

But, Ida was the Woman of Whispers. And one name was all she needed.

"Martell…" She said softly and pursed her lips together.

She grabbed her bag, and pulled out her laptop, quickly opening it up and clicking on her files, and scrolling through them to find the one she needed….

"You think you got something?" Asked Steve.

"Yeah," she nodded, "I do, look at this—" she turned the laptop to face him and he ignored the Renegade to read it.

"Martell isn't an uncommon name but I am familiar with a Laurence Martell," said Ida, "about ten years back, the FBI came to me to get information on him. He had gained a bit of a cult following for his er…" she glanced at the Renegade, "beliefs. Found out he was planning on attacking a synagogue, a mosque and an immigration centre down near the Mexican border. Told the FBI, he was arrested but freed five years later. Naturally, where else would he go but the Liberty Renegades."

"You sure it's him?" Said Steve.

"I'm always sure," she reassured him, "it can't be anyone else."

"Do you think you could track down where he might be?"

"I think I can," she nodded. "Give me an hour, that's all I need."

Steve nodded. Ida was almost surprised to see there was trust in his eyes. But then he glanced back at the Renegade.

"What do we do with him?"

"Kill him?" Suggested Ida.

"No."

"Hand him into the Krasnoyarsk police then," said Ida, "they're not big on Americans in these parts anyway. They'll probably arrest him for not having a passport on him or something."

"You sure you can track down this Martell guy?"

She just stared at him, "I know I can, just trust me on this."

* * *

_About an Hour Later_

"Great," Steve heard Ida say when he returned to the hotel room. "Thank you so much, I'll pay you back when I can."

She put down her phone and chucked it on the bed, glancing up and smiling at Steve when she saw him.

"You deal with the Renegade?"

He nodded, and then glanced at the phone, "who was that?"

"A weapons mongerer," she said bluntly and closed her laptop on the bed. "Old friend of mine–" she paused, "well… Friend isn't really the word. Uh… Partner."

"Business partner."

She shot him a weary smirk and shook her head, "not quite."

He caught her meaning and frowned before swiftly moving on, "so what did he want?"

"He's the man who knows where Martell is going to be _tonight_," she said, sitting down. "There's a fundraiser tonight, a gala of sorts. Tonight in Krasnoyarsk. He's managed to get quite a bit of money in these past few years so he was invited. But I imagine he has some ulterior motive to be there, and he's not just doing it for the goodness of his heart."

Steve contemplated this before saying, "how do we get in?"

"Not by breaking an entry," she said, sensing her meaning, "we've already drawn enough attention as it is. I just got us invites in."

"Are you sure that'll work?"

"Yeah, with a little bit of this—" she tapped her head, "rather than fists. No one will recognise you, not in Russia, not if you're not in your uniform. We just give you a different name, a cover story and er…" she stared at him, "a suit that fits around those shoulders."

"That won't be as difficult as you're making it out to be," he said.

"Then I'll get us something fancy to wear in no time," she said, "you're going to have to pose as John Smith, my _beau_ for the night."

"I'm sure you can be a bit more creative than John Smith," he said. "And are you sure the 'beau' part it necessary?"

"I can't come up with fake names on the spot," she scoffed, "and _yeah_ it is. Otherwise, people will start asking questions if I tell them you're my friend or something. That's unbelievable. I don't have friends. Why?" She raised an eyebrow, "you got something against it?"

"No," he said.

"Then it's not a problem," she stood up and patted him on the shoulder when she walked past, "come on, let's go get you a suit."

"Ida," he said.

She paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder to look at him. She frowned for a second, he realised it was the use of her first name rather than 'Delgrave.'

"Yeah?" She said.

"If this doesn't work, we're back to square one."

"You worry a lot, has anyone ever told you that?"

"If you'd met the people I work with, you'd understand."

"Believe me, Boy Scout. I'm nothing like the people you work with."

* * *

Sure enough, later that evening, Steve found himself in his own hotel room, pulling on a black suit jacket. He hadn't really wore a suit since the forties, he had been too busy, first saving the world from being taken over by a Demi-God with the tesseract (he was still a little bitter over that), and then all the work as a SHIELD agent afterwards. He supposed he hadn't really had much time to go to fancy parties, not that it was his kind of thing anyway. Even now he was only dressing up for more work, more saving the world. Not a bad thing, all Steve ever wanted to do what the right thing. But, still, it was something to think about.

The suit was expensive, Steve noted that Ida tended to be rather frivolous with her money. Not in the same way Tony was, whereas he had about fifty flashy cars and the same type of a thousand dollar suit hanging in his twenty wardrobes, she wasn't a billionaire. But it was clear that she was rich, as she didn't think twice when she paid for things. A suit, a car, a bribe. It was all nothing to her. Not something Steve was used to, growing up in the Great Depression meant that he had never been rich, and paying for all that medication hadn't helped either. And working for SHIELD meant he could afford a nice apartment, but not anything more than that. It was fine though, he was happy. He supposed.

He went to go grab the tie from where he had left it when he heard someone attempting to open the door. He paused for a moment, amused, watching who was obviously Ida struggle to open it before realising.

"Hey, did you lock this?" She said from the other side of the door.

"Yes," he called back.

"Why?"

"Because I was getting changed," he said, "and usually I don't let people barge into my room."

"That's dumb."

"It really isn't."

A pause.

"So…" She began, "can you unlock the door?"

He rolled her eyes and opened it from his side, and saw her take a couple steps back and frown.

"I was supposed to have a dramatic entrance," she said, "thanks for ruining it."

He learnt against the door panel. He could see why she wanted a dramatic entrance. She wore a long, red dress that fell down to the floor, long and elegant. It exposed one leg, and most of her back too. The front of it was slightly more modest, showing her chest but covering it in red lace. Her blonde hair was in curls, tighter than her usual waves, which framed the sides of the face that, Steve noted, had more makeup on it than usual. With longer eyelashes and redder lips that smiled at him. He tried not to stare.

"I can see why you wanted the dramatic entrance," he said, sounding more sincere than he had before. "You look beautiful, Delgrave."

She tilted her head and smiled a smile that said she already knew this, but appreciated it anyway.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Rogers," she remarked, eyeing him. "You suit a suit."

"Thank you."

"Where's your tie?" She frowned and pushed past him, "it's a fancy black tie event, you know, you have to wear one."

"I was about to put it on before you tried to break in," he said.

She snorted and grabbed the tie, beckoning for him to come over. He did so and stood there as she wrapped the tie around his neck.

"The car to take us there gets here in five minutes," she said, "we'll be a little late, but it's fashionable so it's fine. The important thing is to blend in, so dancing and drinking–"

"I imagine you'll like the drinking part," he remarked.

"I'll have a couple of champagne glasses, it can't hurt," she said, looking up at him as she tied the tie. "But the important thing is finding Martell to see what he's up to."

"What does he look like."

"Beefy man. Six foot four with a shaved head. White, obviously. I'll know him when I see him."

"You met him before?"

"No, I saw his mug shot," she said, "my friend there might be able to help us out too."

"Is this your– erm," he looked for the right words, "more than friend, friend?"

"If that's how you want to put it," she tightened the tie, adjusting it slightly, "then yeah."

"How do I look," he asked as she stepped back.

She smirked, "you look super."

Another hour later and the two of them were away from the hotel on the outskirts of the city to the heart of Krasnoyarsk. Snow was falling but only lightly, enough to make Ida visibly shiver when she stepped out the hired, black car to meet the cold air around her. Steve glanced back at her.

"You okay?"

"I'll live," she said, and stared up at the building in front of them.

It was a museum, or an art gallery, or both. Ida wasn't really sure. While it wasn't nearly as over the top as some of the ones in places like New York and London could be, it was still a grand building which was well taken care of with clean brinks and polished pillars. The entrance was lit up a warm yellow, inviniting in contrast to the cold, night blue of the world outside.

"Your name is Vincent Farrow," she told him, "and I'm Samara Farrow."

"Married?" He raised an eyebrow, "is that the cover story your working with?"

"Hey, it'll work," she said, "you just gotta play the part. Here, hook arms."

She held out her arm and he looked at it for a few seconds before hooking his own around it and the two paused and then headed up the steps to the entrance.

"Имена?," (Name?) Said the man at the door.

"Farrow," supplied Ida.

He looked at his list and nodded, gesturing for them to go in. They entered into a large entrance hall, that was decorated with red banners hanging high from the walls, and a chandelier from the ceiling. There were people gathered, chatting and dancing while a band played classical music in the background. A grand set of staircases, carpeted red with golden banisters, led up to a balcony that overlooked the hall, where a few people had also gathered, sipping on their drinks.

A man in a suit and bow tie approached them, offering a tray of champagne. Ida took one and thanked him in Russian with a brief smile, before glancing around.

"Keep an eye out for Martell," she said, "but don't draw any attention. If anyone's going to recognise you, it'll be him."

"No one else here will?"

"Most other people here are Russian or from some other country," she said, "they'd only recognise you in your suit, and even then they'd think it's some cosplay gig. Plus, even if they do think you look familiar, it would probably just be a quick thought of 'huh, that guy looks like Steve Rogers' and then they would move on."

"You sure about that?"

"Believe me, I know how people work," she shot him a look with her dark eyes and then took a sip of champagne, before spotting who she must have been looking for. "Ah, there he is."

"Martell?"

"No."

She tugged him over to where a man in a beige suit was standing, talking to some of the men around him. He was tall-ish, but then everyone seemed smaller in comparison to Steve, with dark hair and a classically handsome look to him. A solid jaw, with a hint of stubble and a pair of blue eyes to fit it all. He was dressed almost casually, without a tie and with the top few buttons of his shirt undone.

"Misha," she greeted the man with open arms.

A smile spread across his features, revealing white teeth, "Miss Delgrave, it's been a while."

They quickly hugged, though Steve noted there was a stiff formality to it.

"It's been too long," she said, "but I suppose it would be easier if you visited America every once and awhile."

He laughed and looked up, "ah, this must be your companion… What was it again?"

Steve paused and then offered his hand, "Vincent," he said, sticking to the fake name.

"Nice to meet you, Vincent," the man, Misha, took his hand and shook it with a tight grip. "I'm Misha Waylan." Steve nodded in acknowledgment, Misha inspected him for a few seconds. "Do I know you from somewhere?" He asked, "you been on TV or something."

"His brother is a model," said Ida quickly. "And much more attractive than he is."

Steve tutted, feigning hurt, "you told me I was the better looking one."

"We all lie to make each other feel better," said Ida, who then took a step closer to him, snaking her arm around his to add to it.

Misha observed Steve, "yes, that must be where I know you from." He shook his head and glanced back at Ida. "I have to admit," he said, "I was surprised when you called me asking for an invite. Even more surprising that you were after that ass Martell too."

"You're familiar with him?" Prompted Ida.

"A little," he said, "a known terrorist, though it's not like anyone cares enough around these parts to do anything about it. He could disguise his hatred for Russians or anyone not-American a little better though."

"Well, he has a bit of information," said Ida, "I'm just after that."

"That does sound like you."

Steve noted that Ida didn't seem to trust this man very much, there was a forcefulness behind her smile and she had lied about why she was looking for Martell. Then again, that could have something to do with her reputation as the Woman of Whispers she was so worried about. Steve thought, and rather scornfully so, that the worst thing Ida could be doing was the right thing, which was what she was doing. So she felt the need to hide it. For _reputation_.

"Have you seen him around tonight?" Steve asked, wanting to get to the point.

"Oh, he's about I'm sure," Misha said, "I'll point him out if I see him."

"Thank you," Ida smiled to him, "I owe you for this."

"I might just take you up on that," said Misha who looked her over again, "did I tell you that you look absolutely stunning tonight? Not that you don't always."

"You'll make me turn as red as this dress," she laughed, "and you're as handsome as ever, Misha, though I definitely don't need to tell you that, your ego is big enough as it is."

He laughed as well and then said, "I'll leave you two up to your job. But I'll see you around, Ida Delgrave."

"You too, Waylan," she said and turned away from him as he walked away.

"My brother is a model?" Steve said.

"It was the first thing I could think of," she defended herself, "Misha is more observant than I give him credit for sometimes. Not just a pretty face."

"What does he do again?"

"Weapons mongerer," she explained, "mainly based in Russia but he came over to America a couple years back. I sold him some information, that's how we met."

"Love at first sight," remarked Steve, which earned him an elbow in the ribs.

"Just keep your eyes open for Martell," she said.

"He could be anywhere," he said, gesturing around them. "It's a pretty busy gala."

"Don't you have enhanced senses?" She snipped, "you should spot him easily."

He ignored the comment, "we should get up those stairs, we'll be able to get a better look at things from up there."

She didn't disagree, but gave a last searching look to the crowds around them to make sure no one had been listening. She nodded to Steve and, once again, the two hooked arms and headed up the golden staircase to the balcony above, overlooking the grand entrance hall. When they got up, Ida traded her empty glass of champagne for a full one off a waiter's tray.

"Will you stop drinking?" Hissed Steve, "this is a mission."

"It's a gala, Boy Scout," she said, taking a sip, "and it's going to take me more than two glasses of champagne to even get me a little tipsy. I'm not a lightweight."

"I'm sure your not," he said, "but this is the kind of situation where you'd want to stay sober."

"Hey, I'm not a SHIELD agent," she said, "or an Avenger. We're here, you're working with me, we do things my way."

"No, of course, because you love to make everything difficult."

"You're the one having a go at me."

"You're the one drinking on the job."

"This isn't a job," she said, "not to me."

"So its a vacation."

"It's me doing the right thing," she said, "which is a fucking miracle for me. I'm not a soldier, Rogers, that's you. I follow my own orders, so if I want a glass of champagne, I'll have one."

He tutted and went to say something else, but was suddenly interrupted.

"If you two are done squabbling," came the Eastern European accent of Misha, "I've found your man."

Ida and Steve broke away from glaring at each other to look at him.

"What?" Said Ida.

"Martell," said Misha, "he was down there, talking to another man. I didn't recognise him, but it was obvious they had arranged to meet up here. They went through that door–" he pointed down to where there was a door off from the hall, leading to another part of the Museum. "I'd recommend following them, unless you two are planning on throwing each other over the bannister at any second."

Ida's face scrunched up at his words but said, "thank you, Misha."

She moved and shot Steve an annoyed look that asked 'well, are you coming?' With a sigh, he followed her down the stairs, not paying much attention to Misha.

She placed her glass back on a tray as a waiter walked past and headed through the doors where Misha had indicated to a room that was immediately quieter than the general, organised chaos of the hall outside. Ida glanced back at Steve, the two sharing a look that agreed to keep quiet. This part was obviously a museum, with displays of old stone tablets and broken ceramic plates, and information written in Russian about the history of each various objects. Ida paid it no mind, if she was looking for fossils she would just have to look at a certain Captain beside her.

There was a door, slightly ajar, one that must lead to an office or storage rooms of sorts. Ida got close to it, stepping carefully in her heels, trying not to make a sound, and pressed an ear against the wall. Sure enough, she heard talking. Steve nodded to her, hearing it too, but from a further distance. She imagined his hearing was enhanced in some way.

As it was open to a crack, Ida was able to glance inside to see their man, Martell, talking to someone that Ida couldn't quite see.

"If the Delgrave woman is here," said Martell, "that could be a threat. She'll sell information to anyone for the right price. And we don't have the money to pay her to keep her mouth shut."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Said another man, also an American, possibly from further down South than Martell due to his accent. "Kill the Woman of Whispers? With all the information she has."

Ida narrowed her eyes.

"Sir, she is still a Russian," said Martell. "She can't have that much value to us."

"This isn't our first attack, Martell, you do understand that?" Said the other man, who Ida was beginning to understand was his boss, possibly the leader of the Renegades with the formal manner he was spoken to in. "This is the first step in our plan. The information she has will take us to our next steps."

"But, sir, we don't have the money to pay her."

"We don't _have _to pay her," said the boss, "she'll give us the information, one way or another."

She recoiled back from the door a little bit at that, glancing at Steve who shared a worried look with her. But, the two Renegades weren't done talking.

"We'll move back to Uyar tonight," said the boss, "and move to the final stages. You said our scientists had the virus ready?"

Martell must've nodded because he continued with, "good. In forty-eight hours, we'll—"

He paused because he was cut off by the sound of a hand knocking against glass. Ida looked to see Steve had accidentally moved his hand, and bumped it on one of the see through cabinets which was displaying some ancient quill and parchment. A simple mistake, though it earned him a dark glare from Ida, and was enough to cause the two Renegades to realise that there was someone outside listening to them.

"What was that?" Asked Martell.

"Go, check it out now."

There was no time to hide, realised Ida, they were screwed.

* * *

**A/N: BOOM, tension, done. I suddenly feel very ill, which is strange but I'm sure I'll get over it. Don't really know what to put here other than in the next chapter there will be a flashback to Ida's past (I'm finally giving you SOME information) and to please leave a review because they really do make my day!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: These photos of Evans and Daniel Craig are getting me,,,,, I love them you have no idea. Also makes me want to write a fic where instead of hooking up with Sharon Carter, Steve meets 007 on a mission and the two slowly fall in love. Haha, just kidding… Unless… **

**Sorry this took me so long (again), I've just had so much work to do and I'm tired like all of the time so keeping up with this has been tricky. At this rate Hidden in Plain Sight will likely take longer than a month until it's updated again. Sorry to disappoint, life is just REALLY stressful at the moment. **

**And also I'm not replying to reviews today sorry because this chapter KILLED, every scene took me at least two days to write each. Not because of writer's block, I'm just tired.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: Old Friend, Old Enemy**

It was a good thing Ida was quick on her toes because she grabbed Steve by the sleeve of his suit, and pulled him away from the door before it could open. There was no time to look behind them to see if they were being followed, because Ida knew exactly where to go and how to hide.

"Please tell me you have a plan," said Steve.

"I have what resembles one," she said and pulled Steve back into the crowd of the main hall.

She slowed her pace down suddenly and grabbed him by the hand, she had no time to see his reaction to this as she guided him to the centre of the room, where many couples in dresses and suits were dancing to the music coming from the band in the background. No one seemed to take not of their panicked state, too absorbed in their partner, and following the steps. She swivelled around to look at Steve.

"What are you doing?" He hissed.

"Trust me," she said, dark eyes deathly serious, "put your hand on my hip, and look at me."

"We have to leave."

"He didn't see our faces," she said, "it's better to hide than to run and draw his attention. Trust me, Steve, _please_."

He looked hesitant, but seemed to understand her point, so gave in and put a hand on her hip. Ida put one on his shoulder and used the other one to clasp his hand. Ida knew how to dance, she knew how to dance better than almost everyone, granted ballroom dancing wasn't really her specialty. Ballet however… But, she was able to pretty easily guide herself and Steve's steps in time with the music, all while keeping a close eye on her surroundings.

"Can you see him?" Asked Steve, and she was close enough to feel his breath.

"Yes," she said in a low voice, gaze locking on Martell who seemed to be searching the crowd, but attempting to look casual about it. When his gaze flickered over to their direction, she looked away. "Key is to not make eye contact," she said which drew Steve's attention back to her.

"He hasn't seen us," said Steve, "or he doesn't know who he's looking for."

"He's looking for someone who's either looking at him, or trying to leave," said Ida, "so keep your eyes on me—"

"Ow, don't hit me," he said. "I'm looking at you."

"You weren't a moment ago," she retorted and swung back a couple of steps, "you were trying to see what he was doing. And if that slap actually hurt you, you're obviously not that much of a super soldier."

"Whatever," he said, "we've got the information now, we should leave."

"Not straight away," she hissed, "we have to wait at least half an hour first. It's about not drawing attention."

"Another half an hour?"

"Don't be grumpy about it," she said, "we're undercover here, _you _were the one who nearly blew it."

"Okay," he said, "I get that, that one's on me. Will you get off my toes."

She glanced down and swore in Russian. "Sorry, guess I'm a little rusty."

"You a dancer?" He asked.

"You could say that I was," she answered carefully, "don't really do it anymore though, don't have the time or the want to."

Steve looked like he was considering her for a second, and then nodded, "I can—"

He was interrupted by someone appearing between the two of them. It was Misha, whose cool and calm facade had replaced to that of panic as he walked straight through the middle of the dance floor. Ida threw a quick glance over her shoulder, but had lost sight of Martell, and then glanced at her old friend.

"What's wrong?" She said.

"He knows your here."

"What? Who? Martell?"

He shook his head, "no, not Martell."

The two looked at each other for a few seconds, and realisation began to dawn on Ida's face as Steve glanced between the two of them confused.

"Сукин сын," she swore and looked at Misha, "that's impossible. I'm miles away from Moscow, he shouldn't have even got a _hint _that I was here."

"He did, somehow," said Misha, "I saw him park out front when I went for a cigarette break. It's no coincidence."

"Change of plan. We need to leave, now."

"What's going on?" Asked Steve, "who's here?"

"An old friend," she then paused and shook her head, "an old enemy. The main reason amongst many as to why I avoid coming back to Russia."

"Who is it?"

Ida never got a chance to even think about answering that question, as shots suddenly rang out from the overlooking balcony. Steve pulled Ida down to the ground, ducking their heads as someone began firing into the crowds. He looked up to see about three men with rifles firing down at the crowd, all wearing armoured bullet-proof vests. They could've been police, had they not been shooting into a crowd full of innocents.

"What's going on?" He hissed at Ida.

"There's a man here who would quite like some information from me," she said, "and I'm not giving it to him."

"Why not?"

"Long story," she said, "let's go!"

She pulled him back up as the crowd began swarming for the doors around them. Amongst the throng of panicking people, it was easier to hide from the bullets, but Ida was very aware that they were attempting to separate her from the crowd. But, while she tried to look over her shoulder to see where the shooters were, but accidentally crashed into the person in front of her. Steve caught her by the arm before she could fall on her face, but there was no time to thank him as she realised.

"They shut the doors," she said. They were trapped in.

"This was coordinated," agreed Steve before shooting her a glare, "what the hell is going on?"

"No time to explain," she said.

"I know another way out," said Misha, drawing both of their attention. "Round back."

Ida ducked as a bullet went over her head and ricocheted off the wall. She shared a look with Steve that lasted only a second before the two got back to her feet and followed Misha out of the main hall and into the rest of the museum. It was quieter here, but they didn't slow as they sprinted past various different displays featuring artefacts from Siberian history. But, before they could get across the room, the door burst open, revealing five more men with guns, who began firing.

Ida skidded to a halt and ducked down behind a pillar, just as a glass case was shot out next to her. She glanced to her side to see Steve crouched begins a metal case beside Misha.

Her gaze hardened and she kicked off her high heels and pulled up her dress to expose where a handgun was strapped to her thigh. She crouched down as she clicked the safety off on the gun and began firing back at the shooters. They locked into the pillar she was hiding behind, and began to start shooting back at them. But she was fairly certain she had hit one.

She glanced back at Steve, and nodded to the glass case just beside him. An ancient, metal shield. He followed her gaze and rolled his eyes, but stood and smashed the glass anyway, pulling out the shield and blocking the bullets. And it actually worked, to Ida's surprise. She took the chance to dart out of her own hiding place and shoot down two more as Steve took down another by frisbeeing the shield at him. She paused, hadn't there been five?

The click of a cold gun against the back of her neck told her where he had gone.

"Дерьмо," she swore.

"Miss Delgrave," said the man behind her, "У нашего босса есть несколько слов для вас." (Our boss has a few words for you).

"Я уверен, что он делает," (I'm sure he does), she shot back. "Но скажите ему, что прошло десять лети ему нужно получить сообщение." (But tell him it's been ten years, and he needs to get the message).

"The message?" The man prompted in English.

"That I'm not saying shit."

She ducked just in time as Steve chucked the shield over her head to hit the man directly in the chest, and knock him suddenly down to the ground with his head hitting the floor with a thump. She stood back up fully, smirking to herself and glancing back at Steve.

"Thanks, Boy Scout."

He was helping Misha back to his feet and turned to shoot Ida a suspicious look through narrowed eyes.

"Can anyone explain to me what just happened?" He asked, "who are these people, Renegades?"

"No," she shook her head, "they're Russians. And they're boss wants my blood. It's a long story, we need to get out of here before more show up."

Misha spoke up, "we can go back to my apartment, I have a car round back."

* * *

_Central Krasnoyarsk_

_Misha's Apartment_

Misha lived in a big apartment in the heart of the city, but it wasn't his only home. He had apartments in at least two other cities in Russia, and several more in other countries. Ida herself had a few spare apartments, and her own was massive and spacious, however it wasn't as ridiculously over the top of this. She was in the bathroom, removing her heavy makeup, leaning on a gleaming, porcelain counter and looking into a gold-framed mirror. In fact, gold seemed to cover the room, to the feet of the bathtub to the shower head and the damn toilet seat. It was ridiculous.

But, she supposed, it suited Misha. The man was born into wealth, and hadn't known a life outside of it so spending his money (earned by selling weapons) on frivolous things like a gold toilet seat didn't seem like that big of a deal with him. Besides, he was attractive as hell, which was probably why she had slept with him for longer than she had with any other man. Or woman.

She sighed as she finished wiping off her makeup, face looking raw and tired in comparison to the glam earlier. They had managed to escape the shootout without another hitch, though Ida had little doubt that those men were far behind them. They would have to get out of Krasnoyarsk soon, before they got tracked down by them again. Turns out, no matter how far away Ida was from the capitol, Ida's past had a way of tracking her down anyway.

"Should've stayed in America," she muttered.

She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, revealing the silvery scar she had had for at least ten years now. The shootout was also an unwanted reminder as to how she had earned that.

She left the bathroom, now wearing more casual clothes, and entered a large dining room which was empty aside from one person.

"We need to move down to Uyar."

"Hm," said Steve, not looking up from his book.

"Preferably as soon as possible," she went on, sensing that he was annoyed. "Like tomorrow morning."

"Why? More nameless people out to kill you?"

She pursed her lips and kept calm as she answered, "they weren't out to kill me."

"No, just all those innocent people in the crowd," finally, he looked up as she sat across from him. "Who were they, Delgrave, or is that a secret I'll have to pay for?"

She glared at him, hard, before answering. "The man they worked for, his name is Ryok Veselov. He's a powerful man in Moscow. Head of a trafficking ring, as well as the CEO of some more official business. Anyway, he has a lot of influence, and a lot of wealth. We– er– have a past, you could say."

"What does that mean?"

"For about two years," she said, "when I was sixteen or seventeen, I worked for him, back when it was his father's business. Doing dirty work that those who were higher up in the family wouldn't do. I didn't want to, but I told myself I would be making myself more money and–" she paused, about to say something else before shaking her head. "And then, a few months before I was about to ditch and run, but then something happened."

Steve's annoyance has faded away into curiosity, he got the feeling that this was a part of the past that Ida wasn't keen on talking about. He could see her visibly fidgeting, uncomfortable almost.

"What happened?" He asked, unable to help himself.

"Ryok's father, who ran the business, was murdered."

"By who?"

She said nothing.

He looked at her carefully, "does Ryok know who?"

"He doesn't."

"But you do," he said, working it out, "and that's why he's after you."

She nodded and smirked wearily, "they don't call me the Woman of Whispers for nothing." And the smirk vanished into a rather sad look, "I was the only witness."

"Why not just tell him?"

She said nothing again.

"Are you protecting someone?"

She nodded, "Ryok would kill the person if he found out. But he'll also do anything to find out. He offered me heaps and heaps of money but I refused. When he realised that wouldn't work, he turned to torture." She pushed her hair back behind her ear, revealing a scar, "he gave me this."

He looked at her, "if you just told him, it would all end."

"I'm not one to trade lives, Captain."

He looked at her, almost approvingly, like her words had struck a rare chord of agreement between them. He chose not to push the conversation topic any further.

"You said he was based in Moscow, how do you think he found you?"

She shrugged, "I don't know everything. It's difficult to say though, I haven't really been in contact with _too _many people since I got here other than my contacts, and they're dead thanks to the Renegades."

"Do you think it _could _be the Renegades?"

"Like they would associate themselves with Russians," she scoffed, "they hate anyone who isn't American. No… I can't think of who it would be…"

"Misha?" he suggested.

She opened her mouth like she was about to protest it, before closing it, sighing and biting her lip. "I don't know…" She trailed off and looked at him, worried. "Maybe."

"How well do you know Misha?"

She cocked an eyebrow, "very well."

"Not like that."

"I mean, I've known him for about five or six years now," she looked thoughtful. "He's hardly an upstanding citizen, let alone a trustworthy guy. Him selling me out to Ryok? It wouldn't be… Unheard of."

"But then why help us escape?"

"Because Ryok paid him to tell him in advance where we were," she said, "and he'll pay him again now to get our current location. It's just another way to make more money for him."

"Does he know we need to go to Uyar?"

She shook her head, "he just knows I'm here. He doesn't even know it's with Captain America, he just thinks your some random guy I'm sleeping with who tagged along. But he does know that I was looking for Martell, which is a problem. And after the shootout, the Renegades probably know we're on their heels again."

"Then we leave as early as possible," she said, "before the sun even rises and Misha even realises we're gone."

"What are you going to do about him?"

"Once this is all sorted out?" She paused and frowned, "I don't know. Threaten him, stop talking for half a year, he comes to me with a business deal, I say the past is the past and then we probably have sex."

"I didn't need that much detail," Steve said.

"That's just how you gotta run a business," she shot him a wicked smile.

He rolled his eyes and stood up, "we leave as early as possible tomorrow morning."

"You better not oversleep," she let out a yawn.

"You better not either."

She shot him a coy smile and went to say something, but he got there faster.

"No rest for the wicked," he said.

She laughed, "no rest for the wicked."

* * *

_Ida's head hit the floor with a thump, blacking our her vision and dazing her, but it was enough to keep her knocked down for the ten seconds necessary. Her limbs ached far too much to even think about fighting back, so she spread out her palms over her head and tilted her head back, breathing heavily. _

"_Я подчиняюсь," (I surrender) she said. _

_There was a second of silence, and she was almost fearful that she would get the shit beaten out of her, more than she already had. Instead, Madame B said:_

"_Let her up."_

_The weight on Ida's chest lifted, and she sat up and let out a hard cough, doubling over and almost afraid she would be sick, and fearing the consequences of it. When it didn't come, she lay back against the ring rope and continued to let her chest heave. The girl she was also fighting against leant back, across from her, but she had by no means been fighting as long. _

_Ida was a young girl, only fourteen, but she was already showing the signs of growing into her beauty, which was exactly what they wanted her to do. Right now, however, she was in leggings and a vest and covered in bruises and red marks, blood coming from her lips and nose, hair drenched with sweat and far from elegant looking. Every once and awhile, she thought she might throw up again, but it kept passing as she kept forcing the bile down. Chucking your guts up in front of Madame B was not the position you wanted to be in. _

"_Five hours straight," she congratulated Ida. "Two hours longer than last and beating the current record by half an hour. You've improved, Ida, you can have your break."_

_Madame B left and Ida finally allowed herself to puke, only to find bile coming up but, thankfully, someone was pulling back her hair. She sat back, finally beginning to feel a little better. _

"_Sorry if I went too hard," commented the girl that beat her, who had also held her hair back. "I just figured it would be easier if it was me who beat you than one of the other girls."_

"_It's fine," said Ida, "I couldn't have gone up against anyone else, Nat, I was barely standing."_

"_It's my turn next week," the redhead looked worried. "I don't think I'll impress Madame B. Not after you beat the record."_

"_I'm sure you'll be fine."_

_Natasha was the same age as Ida, with bright red hair and sparkling green eyes. She was far less worn out that Ida was, though she did have the signs of a bruising cheek and dried blood around her nose, from where Ida had hit her with a sharp right hook. It was Madame B's latest training idea for the older girls. Fight until you break. Ida was supposed to go up against as many people possible, with varying levels of skill, and see how long she would last until she was taken down. Ida and Natasha took the cake out of the group when it came to those who were the fastest, strongest and most athletic. That was why Ida had been able to take down almost every girl, despite her exhausted state, but had failed when it had come to the redhead. She had last ten minutes when usually their fights had held out longer, before she had given up. The girl before that had been tricky too. She wasn't as skilled as Ida, but wasn't as tired as her. The fight lasted an hour until Ida had taken her down by choking her until she passed out. And then Natasha was instantly in the ring afterwards. No rest for the wicked._

_But it was over now, and Ida took grace in the knowledge that she had the rest of the day off. Though, her limbs would ache for the next week, and her bruises would take even longer to fade. Still, she supposed she was allowed to take some pride in herself._

"_Вода?" (Water?) Asked Natasha, holding out a plastic water bottle._

_Ida took it, saying, "благодарю вас" and downed it all in less than five seconds before chucking it to the side._

_And then, the sound of music. All too familiar._

_The easy lull of piano chords began playing into a well-known classical tune, and Natasha and Ida looked up to see that there was a class of younger girls dancing to it, as they had been for the past couple hours. They looked just as tired as Ida felt, though they were not pausing. They were poised on their toes, and then spinning, and then jumping and twirling. All with perfect balance, and precision. A skill that would be turned into a weapon, the older Ida thought with sadness. The sadness surprised her, they were being trained to serve the better for their country._

"_That one," said Natasha softly, "I've seen her a few times. She's weaker."_

_Ida could clearly pinpoint the said girl. She was the same age as those around her, no older than eight, but struggling to keep up and manage the same amount of accuracy as the other girls. Her dark hair was kept short, and her brown skin was covered in marks and bruises._

"_She won't last," continued the redhead, observing and speaking with no sympathy. "Not if she keeps up at that."_

"_I'm sure with extra training—" Ida tried to insist but was cut off._

"_Some people just aren't made for it, Ida," Natasha got to her feet, "we just are. This is who we are."_

_The blonde didn't respond, instead choosing to let her dark eyes settle on the struggling girl, wondering what the fate of a failure would be._

* * *

Steve hadn't really been sleeping, he never really slept well, maybe it was because most beds were too soft for him, or he had slept for nearly seventy years and didn't feel the need to sleep more. But he was always vaguely aware of his surroundings, even more so when he was in a strange location. Actually, that was probably due to his past as a soldier. However, he had been awake enough to hear a van passing by the apartment several times. Perhaps this wasn't something to be suspicious of. But, something about it was bothering Steve.

He stood up, up from the bed that was far too soft and too unfamiliar, and to the window. It was late out, the city was dark. Unlike New York or Washington, Krasnoyarsk was a silent place at night, and nowhere near as bright as the American cities, granted it was far from pitch black. However, it did mean that whenever a car or van or even a person went past the fancy apartment block owned by an untrustworthy Weapons' Mongerer, Steve heard it.

The curtains were open, partly. And so he learnt against the window, peering out rather lazily. A van drove past, a white van. He moved back, just out of sight as it went by, noting the memory plate before brushing it off as his own paranoia.

He thought back to the earlier conversation with Ida. His past was taught in public high schools, hers seemed like a mystery to everyone. So, when she did mention things, once or twice, he was sure to listen. She didn't seem overly comfortable in Russia, probably not due to any prejudiced but, as evidenced by the earlier shooting, she had a rough past in the country. And she wasn't a good person, Steve knew that. But there was something about her, something he couldn't quite work out.

He sighed and looked back out the window just in time to see the van again. With the exact same number plate drive past. Drive past and stop.

He eyed and shoved the curtains closed and swiftly left the room.

While the apartment was _big, _it wasn't that big, so Ida was only sleeping in the guest bedroom across from him. He pushed open the door, which was locked but by no means a difficulty for him, and entered to see Ida stretched out and sleeping, but not soundly.

She shot awake easily when Steve hissed, "Ida!"

She was suddenly pointing a gun at him, but her eyes adjusted and she lowered it, looking around rather blearily, "what's going on?"

"Do you sleep with a gun?"

"Have you met me?"

"A van," he explained, "passed by the apartment block a couple of times before pulling up outside."

Any other person probably would've accused him of being paranoid, but instead her eyebrows furrowed in thought as she looked down at the ground warily before fixing him a look through eerily dark eyes.

She muttered a swear in Russian and asked, "who is it?"

"I don't know, I couldn't get a look."

"It could be anyone at this point," she murmured and then thought for another second before standing up. "Misha keeps his keys in a locked box in the kitchen, I know where. We can grab a car and go to Uyar."

"Sounds like a plan."

She got to her feet and then paused, before grabbing a coat to cover silk pyjamas.

"Not much time to get changed if they're coming in here with guns," she pointed out as she slipped into her infamous boots.

The two of them left the bedroom, the lights off in the apartment which would make sneaking around easier, but also it would be a lot more difficult to find their way. However, Ida seemed to move through the darkness like a shadow, he read it as second nature. She found the kitchen and pushed the door open to reveal what was actually a joint dining room and kitchen, with porcelain counters and polished, dark oak tables, all added with touches of gold around the room. But it looked strange in the dark, like it was just any other kitchen, not the lavish, over-decorated one it looked like in the light.

He noted his shield, which he had picked up from the hotel after their quick escape from the gala, and grabbed it. Ida regarded him, before focusing back on what she was doing.

Sure enough, there was a locked box nailed to a wall. Ida slipped out a pin from her hair and fiddled with it, before it clicked open.

"How many cars does he have?" Asked Steve.

"More than anyone needs," she said and, after a second, picked one out. "Let's hope this isn't a mini."

"I don't enough about cars to tell the type from the car keys," he glanced at them, "it is a Ford though."

"Look at you two, peas in a pod."

The light turned on and the two looked away from the keys to see Misha standing next to the lightswitch, a gun in his hand. Steve looked at the pistol with laziness and gestured the shield, the Russian man snickered.

"The White Shadow and Captain America."

Steve noted that was the first time he had heard anyone call Ida that outside of the profile he had read on her a few days back.

"I didn't recognise who you were at first," said Misha. "You, Steve Rogers, aren't so much of a cultural icon here. But I eventually put two and two together, and the shield proves my point further. I'll admit, it's a strange duo."

"You sold me out to Ryok," Ida said, ignoring his remarks, "how much did he pay you?"

He laughed, "come on, Delgrave, you would've sold me out had our positions been swapped."

A pause, she looked up at Steve, "he's got me there, I would've."

"It's all in the business, my dear. So I'd recommend you put the car keys down."

"Is that who's in the van?" Asked Steve, "Ryok's men?"

Misha frowned, lowering the gun a little, "what van? Ryok knew you'd be at the party, he paid me to tell him that, but he didn't pay me to say anything more."

"That means," said Ida with more relief than Steve was expecting, "it's the Renegades."

"Either way, we have to leave," said Steve and moved forward.

"Hey, hold on—" Began Misha.

"Do you really think a single gun is going to stop us?" Asked Ida.

Misha looked at the pair of them. Steve Rogers with his shield and surprisingly judging expression, standing just ahead of a smirking Ida Delgrave, whose looks were just as poisonous as any viper. Not to mention, she was also holding a gun. He swallowed, and stepped to the side to let them pass.

"Thank you," she said as they walked towards the door, "oh, and call me, yeah?" She winked at him and left, leaving behind an annoyed Misha.

"Do you think they're in the building yet?" Asked Ida.

"No point in risking the elevator to find out," he said, "how do we get to the garage."

"Uh, the elevator."

"No stairs?"

"Rich people don't use stairs, Boy Scout," she said as she pressed the button on the elevator and leaned casually against the doors.

He rolled his eyes, fairly certain her point was violating several health and safety codes, and continued to eye the surroundings with wariness, "what if those doors open to an elevator full of white supremacists with guns?"

"You have a shield," she said, "granted it's quite small. What do you do if someone's aiming at your legs?"

The elevator dinged open and Ida stepped into an empty elevator, and stood there, gesturing around herself with a sly grin on her face.

"See? Empty."

"It won't be when we get to the bottom," he pointed out and pressed the button for the garage.

"I know," she said and checked the magazine in her gun, "we'll handle it, though. What are a few more goons?"

"Feels like the only people I ever fight are goons."

"Then you have experience," she said in a light-hearted tone. But Steve noticed the ways her eyes narrowed at the screen showing the elevator moving down floors, and how her body tensed up, ready for action.

Three floors to go and silence had fallen between them. Ida had positioned herself behind the shield, or he had positioned himself in front of her, it was hard to tell which way round it was. However, when the elevator got to two floors left, and then one, she asked, while jangling the car keys in one hand:

"Ready?"

"As ever," he raised the shield.

The elevator doors dinged open, and there was a second of pause before shooting started.

* * *

**A/N: I'm so tired. Please follow/favourite/review, it really does mean the world :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Whoops, sorry for the late update but I just updated Hidden in Plain Sight twice and I finished the Shadow and Bones trilogy and have just started Six of Crows (not much into it, but already feeling like Kaz might just be my favourite character of all time). Sorry if I don't mention everyone in the thanks! My emails are a little buried but I do love and appreciate you all :) (that goes without saying).**

_**Thanks to: Thunderstrike16, fatecloudatlas, Lauraaa9889, TwilightFreak19, AkariWolfPrincess, Death5troke99, zikashigaku, wintersoldier3000, wintersoldier3000, CrackHeadBlonde, crossMIRAGE19, cnavarro27 and Sasha62 for either leaving a review or following/favouriting on the last chapter! As always, your support is like oxygen to me and I couldn't be writing any of this without your support! **_

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**Chapter Six: Russian Roads**

Five minutes and five unconscious bodies later, they were in a car, far away from Misha's apartment. Steve was driving, and Ida was in the passenger seat, assessing a rifle she had stolen from one of the men. Neither had spoken a word to each other, neither needed to. Ida silently thought that they were getting a little better at this 'teamwork' thing, granted they still were only able to argue with each other instead of conversing normally.

They were nearly out of the city, the sun beginning to rise as the deep blue sky faded into a soft pink. It was still early though, the roads were silent, the street lamps barely cutting through the dark. Ida sat up a little as Steve went over a pothole, grumbling to himself, and glanced behind them.

"Is anyone following us?" He asked.

"Not that I can see," she said, a frown creasing her features. "I think we're safe… for now." She added that last part with a cautious look at him.

"They'll realise we're in Uyar soon enough," he nodded in agreement and then sighed, "and then it's more fighting." He went over another plot hole and swore.

Her eyebrows shot up, "Captain America, I don't expect that kind of language from you."

He scoffed and then, for a second, almost looked apologetic, "sorry about Misha's betrayal back there."

"Why are you apologising for him?" She laughed a little, eyes focusing back on the gun in her lap. "Besides, if someone had asked me to sell out Misha, I would've done it. He understands that, I understand that. In a month's time, he'll need something from me or vice versa and it'll be forgotten."

"That doesn't sound…" He trailed off and Ida could tell he was finding the right word. "Reliable."

"It doesn't have to be," she shrugged, "reliability is something I'm used to not having."

Steve didn't comment on that, but she saw him looking at her through the corner of her eye. She shifted slightly but didn't look back at him, turning to inspect the gun she had picked up.

About ten minutes later, they diverted from the main road to a much narrower, one-way street. Ida was silently grateful that Steve was driving, as she kept nodding off. The outside world, while rather idyllic and Winter Wonderland-like, was getting monotonous, and concentrating on anything was getting difficult. Silence had fallen between them, though it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. Ida wasn't sure when the inherent tension between the two of them had faded, maybe on the fiftieth time one had saved another from being shot in the face, but she was glad it had. Truth be told, though she had no plans to admit it aloud, working with Steve wasn't… Terrible. She had worked with more difficult people in the past.

As she lazily leant her head back on the window, watching the snow banks rise on either side of the road, she spotted something in the side view mirror. It was a heavy lorry, driving a little way behind them. She observed it through lidded dark eyes for a second before sitting up slightly and glancing over her shoulder out the background.

"What's wrong?" Asked Steve.

"Nothing," she said, "just a big truck behind us."

Steve glanced in the rear view mirror and asked, "how long has it been there?"

She shrugged, "I've only just seen it. Probably not too long. Doesn't look like anything suspicious."

"But it could be," he said.

"But it could be," she agreed with a hum.

Feeling slightly unsettled, she glanced back forward onto the road ahead. The snow banks dropped away as the road widened a little bit and opened onto an intersection. It wasn't busy, but the traffic lights indicated that at any time that wasn't five in the morning on a Sunday, it might be.

The lights were on red. Steve stopped and exchanged a glance with Ida, who then looked over her shoulder at the truck behind them. With both vehicles now stopped, she was able to get a better look at the driver, a man in a cap mindlessly texting on his phone and not paying attention to the road. While obviously not the epitome of good citizenry, he didn't seem to be an American facist.

And then a rumble, Ida attempted to peer behind the truck that was already blocking most of the view out of the rear window, only to see another, bigger cement truck speeding up the road.

She swore in Russain, "Rogers, pull forward."

"The light's on—"

"Steve!"

He seemed to realise what was going on at the last moment but, instead of speeding forward, did the smarter thing and swerved to the side just as the cement truck crashed into the back of the lorry, shoving it forward into the middle of the intersection and crumpling it up like a piece of paper.

Just as Steve was about to push forward, several cars suddenly pulled out from around the crashed truck and blocked their path.

"Reverse!" She yelled, hitting the dashboard.

Steve did so but, it was too late, the cement truck had blocked that way too. They were trapped.

"Dammit," he swore and quickly swivelled the car around, though Ida wasn't really sure what the goal of this action was.

It didn't matter though because, when the shooting started, they both ducked off of the seats, Steve sheltering both of them with his shield. They both managed to avoid the glass that came shattering down over them, and Ida grabbed her gun which had been left on the seat.

Ida, knowing the kind of cars Misha used, said, "the windows aren't bulletproof. The rest of the car is."

"Who's trying to shoot us now?" Asked Steve, frustration and panic clear in his tone.

Ida cringed, "no idea. My bets on the Renegades, they probably followed us from Misha's place."

"How do we get out of this one?"

"I don't know," she said, "I just look pretty and sell things, you're the captain here!"

"You're no help," he muttered, briefly annoyed before kicking open the car door on his side.

Ida opened her own car door, and felt the safety of the Vibranium shield leave from over her head as she rolled out onto the road. Immediately, she spotted two men shooting at them from a car parked in the middle of the intersection. She ducked down for a second as a bullet barely missed her head, and fired back at them, hitting one. The second one was taken down by a shield, which then dug itself into the car. She then saw Steve stand up and run to go get it.

"Idiot," she hissed at him, even though he couldn't hear.

She shuffled forward and ducked as more gunshots flew her way. Now down by the boot at the car, it was easier to duck and then fire. As she shot down two more men in a different car, Steve took down two more with his own shield. With only a couple more left shooting at them, Ida let Steve deal with them while she tried to find where that whirring was coming from.

The answer was a motorbike, heading in their direction with a man carrying a heavy rifle on it. Honestly, it was an unintelligent move on their part, as Ida fired at them and they immediately fell off the bike.

Steve was quick, throwing his shield at the bottom wheel causing it to suddenly flip upwards. However, before it could tip over, Steve swung a leg over it, and bought it back down to the ground, grabbing his shield as he went by.

Ida ran forward, slinging the assault rifle over her back, and grabbed his outstretched hand, allowing him to swing her up onto the back of the motorbike.

"Smooth," she remarked over the sound of the engine, "do you pick up all the ladies like that?"

"Hold on!" He yelled, having no time for her quips.

She risked a glance over her shoulder, having to blow her blonde hair out of her face, and saw the cement truck still following them. The driver going as fast as he could while the man in the passenger seat fired at them, only missing due to Steve's expert zig-zagging.

"That's a quick cement truck," she pointed out. "We're not going to outrun it. Not if we're dodging it like this."

"Do you have a better idea?" He asked, both of them shouting over the wind rushing in their ears.

"I do actually," she said, "slow down."

Steve must have been spending too much time with Ida, as he did what she said after only two seconds on contemplation.

They rode alongside the cement truck now, and Ida stood up unsteadily, the ground moving quickly underneath the wheels of the bike. She held onto Steve for extra balance and looked up at the cement mixer that towered over her. There was a ladder attached to the side of it.

"You sure about this?" He checked.

"I am," she said, "drive ahead, throw your shield at the window so I can get in."

"Ready?"

"Go," she yelled, more for herself than for him.

She jumped up suddenly, grabbing onto a step of the ladder, her grip almost slipping for a second before she used her other hand to grapple onto it. Her feet struggled to find a hold but, when they did, she was barely fighting against the wind to reach the top.

Staying on top of the circular cement mixer was more difficult, however, especially when the truck was going at full speed. But, she wouldn't be much of a ballet dancer if she couldn't keep balance on one leg, let alone two, so she pressed forward.

Following what she had said, Steve had pulled up in front of the truck, stopping in the middle of the street as it came barrelling towards him. He chucked his shield at the windscreen, shattering it, and pulling out of the way just in time. Now it was Ida's turn.

She dropped down through the broken windshield, feeling broken glass dig into her palms, and kicked the driver in the face. The space was tight, but enough to allow her to wrap her legs around his neck as she dealt with the man in the passenger seat, holding a gun. He fired at her, and she felt the bullet but it was easy to ignore with the adrenaline rushing through her. When he fired again, she was able to grab the barrel and shove it upwards so it went through the roof. Then, she snatched it off of him and smashed the butt of it into his nose, before elbowing him in the head.

The truck had come to a stop as the driver, still being throttled, went limp and took his foot off the acceleration.

Done, Ida rolled onto the bumper of the truck, taking deep breaths. She glanced to see the shield had dug itself into the metal of the vehicle, and she pulled it out before dropping back onto the road.

Steve had pulled the bike to a stop beside her, and quickly rushed to her side.

She handed him the shield, but he ignored it.

"You're bleeding," he stated.

"Yeah," she shrugged, looking at her palms, "glass shards."

"No, no," he shook his head, "you're arm, the bullet got you."

She glanced at where he was indicating and frowned. The bullet had grazed her left arm, well above the elbow, leaving her bleeding fairly heavily.

"Oh," she said, "Дерьмо."

"We need to treat it," he said matter-of-factly.

She looked at him for a few seconds, his blue eyes were deathly serious, and his face screwed up in concern. It had been a long time since anyone had been worried for her, as in really worried for her, she felt quite touched, but shook her head.

"We need to get to Uyar before more turn up," she said.

"But—"

She shushed him, "I'll be fine, I've dealt with worse. We've just got to get there and then we can sort this out."

He relented and the two got back on the bike this time, with less guns shooting at them.

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_About an Hour Later_

_Uyar, Siberia (Krasnoyarsk Krai)_

Ida was in the bathroom, wearing a white vest and jeans, and inspecting the wound on her shoulder. Her hair was tied up, stray hairs kept back by a couple of carefully place pins, and her hands were bandaged up. For the amount of glass that had been shattered, there hadn't been many shards in her hand. It hadn't taken long for her to easily tug them out and then wash the cuts under the sink. By the looks of things, they would be healed within a few days.

With those sorted, she glanced at her shoulder, which was a bit of a mess to say the least. The bullet had basically skimmed her arm, but it was enough to leave a deep cut, that had only just stopped bleeding. She spent longer washing it this time, _really _not wanting it to get infected, before reaching for the bandages and then pausing. It wasn't so simple to wrap up a wound so high up on the arm, and at an awkward angle, with injured hands. She considered fumbling around until she managed to tie a messy bandage, before letting her stubbornness give way.

She opened the bathroom door. She had managed to find them a Bed and Breakfast in the tiny, run down town. Despite it being a popular area for skiing holidays, Uyar was a town that had not seen any benefit from tourism. As evidenced by the fact that they were the only ones currently staying in this hotel. It was quite run down, the room had two single beds, one of which had the slats broken and the other creaked awfully loudly if you even stepped near it.

But it was enough, and Steve was sitting on a chair he was too big for, reading several different files that Ida had on the Renegades.

"Rogers," she said but in a soft tone.

He looked up, "you okay?"

"Fine," she said, "nearly patched up. I just…" She didn't know why it was so difficult to ask for help. She was probably just being stubborn. "I just need your help getting a bandage around this arm."

He looked at it and didn't hesitate when he nodded, putting the files down.

A minute later, they were back in the bathroom, Ida with her arm raised slightly.

"It'll heal in about a week," said Steve, "it'll probably bleed periodically though."

"Who made you a doctor?"

"The war," he shrugged, "that, and I went to the doctor's enough as an anemic kid to pick up a few things."

"If it were that easy, we'd all be medical professionals," she snorted and then hissed, "ow. I've already washed it, Steve." She had said 'ow,' not in pain, but more at the surprise at suddenly having a hot, wet towel pressed against her skin.

"Not properly," he said rather sharply, "hold it there."

She did as he said, taking the towel from him and ignoring the way their fingers brushed over one another for a second. He moved away and grabbed the dressing.

"It'll scar," she said it more to herself than him.

He glanced over his shoulder, "does that bother you?"

"Not really," she sighed, "not at this point."

She glanced back at her towels, subtly letting her eyes flicker over to the mirror where she saw Steve scanning her, only for a second. Her older scars had faded into silver-white lines that were barely visible, but criss-crosses her upper back, exposed by the best she wore. They were from a very long time ago, her more brutal days of training. She could probably name the person who had given her most of them, but Ida had given the Redhead just as much in return. There was no bad blood. Well, there had been for a while, but that was something entirely different.

Steve caught her eye in the mirror and seemed to finally work up the question on his mind.

"Where did you get those scars?"

"Training."

"Where did you train?"

She paused and said, "you ever heard of the Red Room?"

It was his turn to hesitate, their eyes were still connected in the mirror. He gave a nod.

"Natasha is quiet about her past," he admitted, "but we work together, and with all the talk of wiping the red out of her ledger, she does sometimes talk about how she got the red in the first place."

She nodded, "we were bought in at the same time. Both young, too young to remember our parents or much of a life outside the Red Room aside from poverty and ruin. And we were both equally matched. The two of us were supposed to be the KGB's best assassins. The Black Widow and the White Shadow."

She laughed, but she wasn't sure why. He just looked sympathetic but still with an undeniably curiosity.

"But that didn't happen," he said.

She shook her head, "it didn't. I… Left just after I turned fifteen."

"Left?"

"More like escaped," she paused and then sighed, "it's a long story."

"You don't have to tell me it," he said softly, and then went. "Lift up your arm, I need to put the bandage on."

She did so, putting the warm towel back on the side and allowing him to wrap the bandage around her arm.

"What about you?" She asked, "what's your secret backstory."

He laughed quietly, not looking up, "I imagine you already know it."

"Captain America isn't—"

"Taught in Russian schools," he glanced up for a quick second, "yes, I know that. But your a woman who likes to be in the know, I imagine you know my life better than I know it myself."

It was her turn to laugh, a light, musical chuckle, before she stopped and said, "everyone seemed to think that you were… In love."

He paused and then continued, "that's what they say."

"Were you?"

"It doesn't matter now," he sighed, "it doesn't matter what happened back then because it was seventy years ago. My friends from back then are gone, everyone I knew. Peggy moved on, made a life for herself and now she's old and sick but happy. It doesn't matter if I was in love back then, or if she was in love as well. It was seventy years ago."

"It wasn't for you," she said, peering at him.

"Hm?"

"I mean, it was seventy years _yes. _But for you, it was just like a nap."

"That doesn't change things," he said with a rueful smile, "I live in the present now. I carry out my duties/"

"Is this a duty?" She asked, her tone more coy than intended.

"Stopping a bunch of white supremasicts from spreading an infectious disease in a highly populated city?" He raised an eyebrow, "I should hope it is."

"Not that," she said, "I mean this, right now. Bandaging me up. Is that your duty?"

This time when he paused, it took him much longer to find his words and answer.

"We're working together, aren't we?" He said, "we're partners, we help each other."

"But you're Captain America," she said, "and I'm a broker. I sell information to the highest bidder. It would be best to keep your distance, I could sell you out if I wanted to."

She was surprised to hear pleading in her own tone. Why was she pleading? Pleading for him to stay away? Maybe she was scared, scared that if he got too close, she would be forced to lie. Because Ida knew something that Steve didn't, something about SHIELD that Steve didn't. Something that maybe would mean that that seventy years trapped in ice, after forcing a place into the ocean to bury the tesseract from falling into the wrong hands, was pointless.

And Ida couldn't tell him that, she'd be killed for saying anything of the sorts to anyone, let alone Captain America. But, the more time she spent with him and talked to him and worked with him, the more guilty she felt. And she was the Woman of Whispers, she wasn't the kind of person to feel guilt.

"I don't think you would, Ida," he said honestly.

"I told you I'd sell out Misha."

"I'm not Misha."

"You're not," she agreed. "I've known Misha longer."

"That doesn't have to mean anything. I don't think you would sell me out, not for a million dollars, not for ten million."

Ida didn't respond but silently she agreed. She wouldn't sell him out, and that thought terrified her more than anything else in the world could.

"Done," he said and released her arm. She only realised how warm his hands were when he let go. "Too tight?"

She rested her arm back by her side, a bandage now neatly wrapped around it. "Nope, it's perfect," she said and then paused. "Thank you."

He looked like he was going to say something else, but then closed his mouth, shook his head and seemingly changed his mind. Instead, he said, "I'm going to go back to the files, see if we can find anything on the Renegades that we didn't have before."

He moved to leave and she suddenly grabbed his arm, not meaning to. He turned, looking at her hand and then up at her.

She straightened herself up, trying to bring back some of the old Delgrave superiority, not entirely sure as to what had just come over her. She needed to get out of this tiny bathroom. Out of this tiny hotel, the claustrophobia of it all must be making her head all funny.

"I'm going to go to the library," she said, "find a map, look through old files, see if I can locate exactly where they would leak the Silver Virus for it to have the most devastating effect."

"I could come too."

"How well can you read Russian."

"I'm not… Awful."

"And you're not great either," she snorted, "besides, you're American, that draws a lot of attention in a town like this." She twirled past him, grabbing her coat. "I'll be back in three hours. If I'm fifteen minutes over that, assume I'm dead or drunk somewhere."

He nodded, "and vice versa."

"I'll see you later, Steve," she said, opening the door.

"Yeah, later, Ida."

Had they always been using first names? It was hard to tell.

She flashed one last smile at him and left the room, letting him close the door behind her and silently hoping he had watched her go.

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**A/N: Okay, this chapter WAS going to be longer but I liked this conversation between the two of them so much that I decided to leave it there. Much better than the shitty action we've been having lately. Besides, the two certainly seem to be getting more comfortable with each other… I wonder how it will develop next chapter (I actually know but,,,, you know I gotta build up the suspension somehow).**

**Anyway! Please leave a review and I'll see you in the next chapter (if it doesn't take me a thousand years to update)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Once again, I'm very sorry for the late update. I've just been going through a lot lately, and while mentally I'm happy, writing has been a real struggle for me. As I'm sure some of you know, I've quite writing Hidden in Plain Sight for time being because (honestly) it was really causing me to become tired and exhausted and I was beginning to feel real depressed because of it. I do have some further thoughts about a possible future for that story, but I'll post that as an update to it on the story itself.**

**Just a clarification (especially just in case the Russian Government is reading this for whatever reason) while these are real locations in Russia, a lot of the information in this chapter is made up for story purposes. I don't really know how the water system in Krasnoyarsk works (the lake mentioned in this chapter isn't a real location) and, moreover, I still don't even know how to spell Krasnoyarsk without autocorrect having my back. Further clarification, the Silver Virus isn't real either, it's just a plot device.**

**This chapter signals the beginning of the end for this story line. After that, we move onto the Winter Soldier and, let me tell you, I'm very excited to be writing that one. Also, I changed the cover as I thought that photo was a better depiction of Ida (by the way, the actress depicting her is Rosie Huntington-Whiteley. At some point I'll edit a proper cover with the title on it, but I still need to find a good enough photo for that. For now, I really like this one.**

_**Thanks to: Hammondc97, zikashigaku, tkimblemcnair3, LivForMusic, Kekoa-CCS, ssdevi811, nephilimpotter, blackfox-vixen, ForeverAlways143, JAllen1447, redvelvetlover13 and Romanogers for either leaving a review or following/favouriting on the last chapter! I really appreciate the support, especially those who take the time to write a review! I love you all :)**_

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**Chapter Seven: The Pearl Earring**

_Three Hours Later_

The library was rather small and run-down, Ida was surprised there was a library at all in such a far-away, desolate town like Uyar. However, despite everything, it was fairly well kept. Old newspaper records were filed neatly away, as well as books organised by genre and author name, it was a shame the windows were boarded up and the walls were vandalised. It was almost completely empty too, just Ida, a librarian and a few others.

She looked rather out of place, in this town and especially in this library. She hardly seemed like the bookish type, decked out in jewellery and expensive clothes. However, she did quite enjoy reading as a hobby, whenever she had time. Granted, she was hardly here for some light reading entertainment.

Around her was spread several old newspaper clippings, as well as map of the Uyarsky District and a bigger one of the Federal Subject of Krasnoyarsk Krai. She had been here for about three hours, and had made very little headway on a possible location as to where the Renegades were located, much to her frustration.

Her information informed her that they were _near _Uyar. But specifically? It was hard to say. The car chase on the motorway proved they had a lot of firepower, far more than Ida had known. She had thought they were more rag-tag than that, no more than maybe thirty to forty of them. But her information had been wrong, which meant other information might've been wrong too. The thought of it made her feel uncomfortable. She was Ida Delgrave, the Woman of Whispers. She knew everything, that was the whole point of her.

Another source of frustration, of course, was Steve Rogers. She had thought she had knew everything about the man. His story was taught in history lessons, his name plastered across the news. Ida didn't need whispers to tell her anything new about him, because everyone knew who Captain America was.

Sure, she knew he was noble and good, she had expected that. But he was firm with his values, almost stubbornly so. Unlike Ida whose morals shifted like liquid depending on the weather and the price offered to her, he was so set. And she had thought he would hate her, he _should _hate her. Instead, in a strange way, he trusted her.

"_I could sell you out if I wanted to."_

"_I don't think you would, Ida."_

"_I told you I'd sell out Misha."_

"_I'm not Misha."_

"_You're not. I've known Misha longer."_

"_That doesn't mean anything. I don't think you would sell me out, not for a million dollars, not for ten million."_

She shook her head, trying to banish the conversation from her mind. But it was impossible. She had told him about the Red Room, something that she rarely shared with _anyone_. Granted, he still didn't know everything, and she had no desire to share anymore. But the fact that she had told Captain America even a tidbit of her messy past said something.

And the feeling of guilt was always there, the closer he came. She closed her eyes, tilting her head upwards slightly. The secrets she knew about SHIELD… The power she knew those secrets held…

"Keep a distance," she muttered to herself. Her voice was loud in the quiet library.

Shaking her head, she opened her eyes and focused back on the map, thinking about giving up and seeing if Steve had found out anymore. However, unlike in the past three hours, her eyes flickered to something they had seemingly skipped over before.

A few miles out from the town was a lake: Lake Nevskoye. It was a fairly large body of water, fed by an underground stream. It had no connection to the Yenisei River that flowed through Krasnoyarsk, but she circled the name with a pen anyway.

Ida quickly pushed the map to the side and flicked through the newspaper clippings, finding the one she was looking for, a story dated back to the fifties, when the Silver Virus was at its worst.

_Yenisei River INFECTED! Residents warned to stop drinking and bathing in water from taps until the water system is changed._

It was still believed that the water from the river was unsafe to drink due to the Silver Virus, though that was likely untrue as the river was nowadays just filled with polluted waste. However, the water system for the city had still been changed. While things like this were kept under wraps by the Russian government, Ida reckoned that if she flicked through a few more news clippings, she could find exactly what body of water, whether that be a reservoir or lake, the city currently drank from.

She flicked through a few more newspaper clippings and sure enough found photos of construction around Lake Nevskoye, construction to specifically build a reservoir. And it didn't take a genius to realise what the reservoir was storing water for.

The only way the Renegades could spread the Silver Virus would be through the city's water source, which means their base would be near Lake Nevskoye. Ida was silently cursing herself for taking so long to figure it out.

She heard the doors to the library open and she glanced up. The man who entered was white, with a shaved head and rough look about him. The librarian called out a greeting in Russian, but he ignored her words, glaring at her rather scornfully.

Ida recognised him almost instantly, he was making no attempt to disguise himself. Laurence Martell: the Liberty Renegade. They had found her.

His eyes flickered over to her and she quickly looked down, pretending she had noticed him. Acting was one of her strong suits, a side effect for being an expert liar. So, as smoothly as possible, she stood up from the library desk and fiddled with one of her pearl earrings, dropping it onto the table and walking towards the bookshelves.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Martell follow her, he took no notice of the earring on the table. Good.

She liked to think of herself as a practical woman, she had been raised that way after all. And, thinking practically, Martell wasn't hiding himself, which meant he wanted her to see her. Which meant he wasn't alone.

This meant either capture or death. Either way, Ida wasn't going to be able to get out of this. That didn't mean she wasn't going down without a fight though, she just knew that she wouldn't be getting out of this by herself. She hoped that the earring and the circle on the map was all Steve needed, as long as the Renegades hadn't tracked him down either.

She walked down the bookshelves, brushing her fingers along the spines and then pausing as she reached the end of one shelf.

"Didn't think I'd find a Renegade in a place like this," she said slyly, knowing Martell was next to her. "Came for a spot of reading? I doubt you can read most of these books."

"Я говорю по-русски лучше, чем вы думаете, сука," (I speak Russian better than you think, bitch) was his harsh reply.

She smirked to herself, "surprised you would dirty your tongue with such a vile, non-american language."

"We all have to make necessary sacrifices," he said, "for a good cause."

She laughed to herself, short but soft. Shaking herself, she began to head towards the back door, knowing he was just behind her.

"We'll take this outside, I think," she said, not stopping in her long stride. "It'll make it less messy, I don't really want to get this poor librarian involved."

He took stride beside her, looking at her thoughtfully, "you'll come willingly?"

"Of course not," she scoffed, as she opened the back door. "But I guess that means you don't want me dead. Should've known that, no one wants the Woman of Whispers dead."

"You're useful," he said, "that's all."

"That's what every man says to me," she lifted her head to the sky, still blue at this time of day.

'_Well_,' she thought silently, '_maybe not every man_.'

Suddenly, he made for her. She ducked under his swipe and jumped back down the steps leading down from the building, pulling out a knife. The door had opened up onto a small alleyway behind the library, out of sight and rather cramped. She didn't care much, she could fight under pretty much any condition.

She pulled out a knife from the underside from her coat and struck Martell with a swipe at the arm. It was nothing more than a surface injury, a small cut. But it was enough to make him grunt in pain and cause him to take pause.

Someone grabbed her from behind, she elbowed them in the chest and stomped on their foot, before spinning around and slitting their neck. They fell back, gargling and clawing at their throat as they drowned in their own blood. She looked down at him without a flicker of emotion in her eyes, before looking at her sleeve.

"Look at this," she muttered to herself, "this coat is more expensive than however much mos of you had made in a lifetime. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out?"

She turned to glare at Martell, sidestepping another Renegade who came in for the attack.

Martell glared at his fallen comrade and then back at her, shouting orders, "knock her out _now_!"

She rolled her eyes, was he expecting her to be so easy to take down? Obviously, he hadn't been paying attention. She raised her elbow to block another attack, before attempting to strike down at her opponent with the knife, but someone else approached from behind to twist it out of her grip. No matter.

She twirled out of the way of the both of them, ripping off her belt at the same time. She then kicked out of the back of the legs of the second man so he was on his knees and wrapped the belt around his neck, keeping a strong grip on it with her right hand while picking up the dropped knife with her left hand and throwing it at the other man, hitting him in the shoulder causing him to cry in pain.

But she had lost sight of Martell, and she realised it a second too late as a rag covered her mouth and she felt the world go blurry and then black.

* * *

Steve only realised that Ida had been gone far too long when it had been far too long.

Truth be told, he hadn't been distracted by research. He felt like he had read the same line over and over in this file, it was getting him nowhere. The files contained useful information, it felt that he knew the history of the Liberty Renegades like the back of his hand now, but nothing relevant to where they could be hiding in Uyar. or maybe it did, he hadn't really been paying too much attention, or thinking deeply about it.

Frustratingly, his mind was on Ida herself and their conversation before she had left. She had told him about her past, her dark eyes got a little brighter and her expression was softer than he had ever seen. It seemed that with every hour he spent with Ida, the fog that seemed to constantly surround her cleared a little more, like putting together pieces of a puzzle.

Part of him, the part of him still in the 1940s, remained rooted on the idea that he should _hate _this woman for everything she had done. Selling information to terrorists, governments, foreign intelligence or to whoever had the most money. But he seemed to forget about the murky job she worked whenever he talked to her. Despite the near-constant bickering, he always knew what to say to her, always knew how to banter back and forth.

While she kept up the mysterious 'Woman of Whispers' facade, he could see through the cracks to what seemed like a normal woman. And a part of him feared that she could see through the cracks too, to the skinny asthmatic from Brooklyn.

But, he had to ignore that now. Try to ignore the way she had grabbed him almost unconsciously before leaving… Concentrate, Steve.

She had been gone three hours now. Just over that actually, three and a quarter hours. Call it paranoia, but his gut feeling was that something had gone wrong, and his gut feeling was rarely wrong.

He stood up, unable to stay cooped up in here any longer and left the bed and breakfast, feeling the cool air hit him. He didn't really get cold, other than that one time he was frozen for nearly seventy years, the serum running through his veins made his blood pump fast, so he stayed fairly warm in most weather.

The library wasn't far but, then again, this town was so small that everything was only a few streets away. The buildings were rather shabby here, built to survive the winter and keep inhabitants warm rather than look pretty. The roads were worn and filled with deep potholes, with no sign that anyone had tried to fix them. Despite himself and the situation, Steve couldn't help but contemplate how poor this town must be. So far away from the nearest big city and not exactly a tourist hotspot, the town must have to be pretty self-sufficient. He couldn't quite understand that, he had only grown up in bustling New York after all.

He walked into the library, the door opened with a creak.

"Добрый день," greeted the librarian.

Steve returned it with his fairly crappy Russian. If she thought his accent was suspicious, she didn't show it as she went back to sorting her books through her cresent-moon glasses. It was a pretty decent library compared to the rest of the town, Steve supposed it would have to be in a place so far away from any kind of wifi signal. However, it was completely empty on this particular afternoon. Eerily so.

No sign of Ida.

Checking over his shoulder, he saw that the librarian was paying him no mind, so he trapased the library with little worry of being watched. However, his panic was growing with every second as he realised there was no other patrons in the library other than _him_. Ida was nowhere in sight.

He tried to reason with himself. Perhaps, she was already on her way back to where they were staying and their paths hadn't crossed yet. Then again, knowing the trouble the two of them had managed to get in so far, Ida's absence could only mean more trouble.

He found a desk, probably for school kids or adults to work and read at, but it was already covered in books, maps and newspaper clippings. Pausing, he stood over it, inspecting it for a second before spotting something glint out of the corner of his eye.

A pearl earring.

In fact, though he wasn't a hundred percent sure of this, wasn't this Ida's? Why would she just leave it here… Unless…

He glanced at the map again, noticing that a body of water had been circled Lake Nevskoye. She must've found something, and she must've realised that she was being followed or otherwise. The pearl earring must've been a message to him to catch on.

He picked it up and put it in his pocket, before quickly grabbing some paper and ripping off a bit, before scribbling down the name of the lake. He did another scan of the library before noticing a back door, and heading out through there. It led onto an empty alleyway. However, he did notice a splatter of blood on the floor, wiped against the concrete as though the body it had come from had been dragged.

He hoped the blood didn't belong to Ida.

The Renegades must've found her, and maybe killed her or taken her somewhere or worse. Either way, the end of their mission was in sight now, Steve had a location.

He had to find Ida. He had stop the Renegades.

Before he headed back to the hotel to grab the motorbike, he silently wondered why he had prioritised finding Ida over stopping terrorists.

* * *

_There was always ballet music in her dreams. The gentle tap of piano keys followed by sharp instructions and painful leg cramps. It would last forever, twirling and spinning, jumping and stretching until it felt like her body would break. But that was always the point. Dance until you break. Fight until you break. Train until you break. Break until you're the shell of a human they want you to be. A shell that can switch at any moment. Seductive and caring into deadly and cold. Whisper sweet nothings into his ear and then strangle him until his body stops writhing._

_That was what they taught Ida. And they had broken her at such a young age. She had no place in the world, she wasn't a girl, not even a woman. She leant back against the wall, exhausted from another afternoon of rigorous training, letting the lullaby tune of the piano fade into the background._

_And then came the sharp tone of Madame B._

"_On your feet, Kasataya," she said._

_Ida opened her eyes. She was sitting in the dance studio, as she often did after a particular hard session. Madame B saw both her and Natasha as her top students, so tended to be more lenient than she would be with others, but only if they had a good day. If they were weak or faltered, they would be berated, harassed and punished. But neither of them faltered anymore. Slowly, Madame B had twisted them into her perfect vision._

_The class dancing were all about eight, which meant the more physical side of training had only just begun for them. While they all began at a young age, the first few years were dedicated to filling heads with propaganda before anything else. _

_The girl Madame B was yelling at was familiar to Ida. this wasn't the first time she had fallen in a session, and this wasn't the first time she had been yelled at. Natasha shook her head whenever she saw her, saying that that was the way it was, that some people weren't made for it. Ida just felt sorry for her._

"_Don't cry," Madame B's voice held no sympathy, "you pathetic excuse for a dancer. On your feet now before I smack you."_

_The threat was enough to get her on her feet and the second she was standing, Madame B nodded for the music to begin playing again. Only another ten seconds later, did the girl collapse._

"_Kasataya, stand up," ordered Madame B. "I have no time to deal with you now."_

_The girl swallowed, knees trembling as she bowed her head._

"_Delgrave," snapped the woman, "you are done with training today, no?"_

_Ida got to her feet, straightening her spine quickly, "yes I am, Madame."_

"_Good, then see to it that you teach this insolent brat here how to dance properly."_

_The girl sniffed at her words, but didn't do anything more than that. Truthfully, Ida wanted to refuse Madame B. Let the girl continue to struggle, she had been up for the past fourteen hours doing ridiculous acrobats and just wanted to take a break. But the consequences for disobeying were worse than a few aching bones so she just nodded._

"_With me," she said sharply to the girl, more keen to get out of the way of Madame B, who seemed to be on the warpath today._

_She guided her to a different dance studio, a smaller one that was usually used for one on one sessions. Ida paused as she looked at herself in front of the mirror. Dressed in a black leotard with black, translucent tights underneath. Her hair was tied back in a loose pony, rather than the tight bun that she usually did for ballet._

_She didn't actually have her ballet shoes on her, not that she planned on needing them. She had no desire to actually dance, she could teach this girl from afar._

"_What can't you do then?" she turned and glanced at her._

_The girl's eyes widened, she looked ready to cry at any moment, "I… I don't know."_

_Ida resisted the urge to roll her eyes, "well, where did you fall last time?"_

"_I always fall," she said, shaking her head. "I can't do anything. The other girls… They call me stupid and lazy. I'm trying but I… I…" She trailed off and collapsed onto a heap onto the floor, crying._

_Ida stood there for a moment, feeling slightly confused. How was she supposed to deal with a crying child? She had never been taught this. Madame B would just snap at them, call them weak and pathetic. Should Ida be doing that too? No… It didn't feel right. In fact, the feeling washing over her could only be described as protective._

_She leant down and sat beside the girl wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Without really realising herself, the girl cried into her shoulder._

"_Madame— Madame B said she'd get rid of muh—me if I didn't get good," she said, barely able to get the words out "I don't want to die."_

"_What's your name?" She asked softly._

"_E-Emilia Kasataya."_

"_It's okay, Emilia," she said, rubbing the girl's back, feeling that odd, protective urge grow stronger. "Whatever happens, I won't let them hurt you."_

"_Why am I so useless?" She asked._

_Ida thought about it for a second, remembering Natasha's words._

"_Some people just aren't made for it," she said, but this time, it was words to comfort, not harm._

"Ugh," Ida felt like someone had dropped a weight on her head.

It took her a few seconds to become aware of her surroundings. She was sitting, her head lolled to the side, knocked out by chloroform, most likely. Her hands were tied behind whatever chair she was sat on. She let out a heavy sigh and wrinkled her nose, blinking open her eyes.

She squinted at the light, though it wasn't that bright, just harsh on her already painful headache.

"Good to see your finally awake."

She laughed and turned her head to see a man sitting in front of her, across a metal desk, she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who are you supposed to be?" She asked, "a James Bond villain."

His eyes narrowed at her, though the jab didn't seem to bother him that much, "you don't know who I am?"

She tilted her head to the side, the smile never fading, "of course I know who you are. Saint James Andrew Otto. think I overhead Martell talking to you at the party actually."

"You know why they call me Saint?"

"Because your ego is thicker than your skull," she leant back in the chair, trying to get herself a little more comfortable. "James Andrew Otto. Saint James the Great. Saint Andrew the Apostle. And Saint Otto of Bamberg. You believe that just because your names are the same as some saints who lived a thousand or whatever years ago, that makes you morally righteous. Then again, you'd have to be delusional to run the Liberty Renegades."

His mouth twisted, "you speak blasphemy."

"I don't," she shook her head, leaning forward, "I don't care for religion. _You're_ the one committing blasphemy, my friend. You do realise you have to be dead to be a saint, right? Plus, I'm pretty God wouldn't be too big on the 'killing all non-whites and non-Americans' thing."

"God has already carried my soul to heaven," he spoke calmly and slowly, like a priest holding mass. "It is my duty on Earth to carry out his will, to be his messenger."

She blinked, "you think you're the second coming of Christ?"

"Of course not, I am simply another servant of God."

"And he's willed you kill one million people via deadly disease."

His glare sharpened, "you have no faith, do you, Miss Delgrave?"

"I grew up in Soviet Russia," she said, "and was trained to be an assassin since I could first walk. I didn't exactly have time to attend church. And, according to you, if I did, I would've just viewed myself as scum because God hates everyone who isn't American."

"God hates the sinful."

"Ah, so God is racist and Xenophobic," she nodded, "gotcha. What am I here for?" She had no desire to continue this spiritual debate. "You going to sacrifice me like a goat on the altar? Or do you need me?"

He paused, "there is still… Use for you."

She snickered, raising an eyebrow, "Saint James Andrew Otto, do you really think this is the first time I've been kidnapped for information? It never works. Just pay the right price and I'll tell you what you need."

"We're not going to pay you," he said.

"Of course not," she glanced around at the rather shitty room. "I imagine you guys couldn't afford my lowest asking price anyway. We're by Lake Nevskoye, correct? That's where you plan on dumping the Silver Virus, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"You're not even going to deny it, are you?"

"That's our plan," he shrugged, "you're in no place to stop it."

She felt slightly offended that he didn't think she couldn't get out of these handcuffs, but didn't show it.

"Maybe _I'm _not."

"You speak of your companion," he said, "he can't stop us, it'll take days for him to even realise what lake we are beside. By then, you'll be dead along with all of Krasnoyarsk. And so will he. It's a shame, he could've survived had it not been for your witchcraft."

At that, Ida had to lean back in her chair, close her eyes and count to ten. She had thought Martell was an idiot, but at least he was far more tolerable than this fool. If anything, it sounded like he was a man living in a 1600s, English village and of the belief that women had no brains and outsiders were evil spirits.

"You liked Captain America, didn't you?" She said, "you're biggest inspiration as a child in your conservative family. Blonde hair, blue eyes, defeating the evil Germans. Though…" She trailed off, "you and the Nazis are obviously one in the same. But, you idealised him as the perfect man until he began to work with me to stop you." She laughed. "You do realise he's the son of an Irish Immigrant, right?"

"Enough," he stood up, silencing her (though a smug smirk remained on her face). "You'll tell us what we need to know, woman, or you'll suffer."

She sighed before pretending to check her watch. "Also not the first time I've been tortured for information. How weak willed do you think I am? They don't call me the Woman of Whispers for nothing."

"The _Bitch_ of Whispers is more common nowadays."

"Wow, a swear!" She laughed again, "I'm sure your God will love to hear you say that."

He slammed his fist down on the table, "just tell us what we need to know!"

"I don't _know _what you want from me," she said, "you've just spouted off your beliefs to me, Mr Saint James and haven't asked me anything yet."

He frowned and looked at her, "we want access to the Kremlin."

The smile was wiped off her face in an instant, "you don't plan to stop at Krasnoyarsk. You want to wipe out all of Russia because you view it as America's greatest enemy. And then you'll destroy as much as you can. You won't stop."

He looked at her, "of course not."

"I can't give you an in on the Kremlin," she said, "even if you offered me all the money in the world I would still say no. I have morals, Saint James, granted very loose ones. But no amount of torture or bribery will ever get me to reveal my country's most vulnerable secrets. And that goes the same for every single country on this planet."

"Do you know the nuclear launch code?"

"That's a child's question," she scoffed, "of course not. They change all the time, I have no interest in finding that out."

"But the information at the Kremlin would be all we need," he frowned and stood up, "and you know how to get in."

"Did you not listen to anything I just said? I refuse to tell you anything, you facist fuck."

He closed his eyes, as if annoyed, and then fixed her with a glare, "we're not done with you, Miss Delgrave."

"I suspect you're not," she said and leant back on the chair, "but I'm done with you."

He held her gaze for a few seconds longer, but no one could withstand the dark depths of her eyes, not for long. He squared his jaw a little and looked away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a walkie talkie.

"Martell," he said, "tell them to move along with Operation Silver. We'll deal with the woman after. Station two guards outside of the interrogation room door."

He left without another glance at her, locking the door behind him. She frowned to herself, feeling slightly unsettled at his words. He was truly delusional, more so than she had anticipated. She hoped he would meet a violent end. She also hoped that Steve was on his way. Was the clues left in the library enough for him to find where they were keeping her and the Silver Virus? She couldn't do this alone, she needed his help.

However, getting out of some handcuffs was one thing she didn't need help with.

She tested the chair, wooden and easily breakable. She got to her feet, still cuffed to the chair and suddenly flipped. She heard the wood break, completely shattering the wooden chair and leavin her with just a pair of cuffs around her wrist. Silently, she thanked Romanoff for that move.

She tested the cuffs, they were tight on her wrist so there was no dislocating her thumb to get out of this pair. However, it wouldn't be necessary. She closed her mouth, feeling along her teeth with her tongue before tasting the tang of metal. She spat out the pin at the back of her mouth, and it made a 'pink' as it hit the floor.

From there, picking the lock was easy and the handcuffs slid onto the floor like they were never a problem at all. Rubbing her wrists, she glanced around, trying to decide her next move.

Her trust was in Steve now, she could only hope the man was on his way.

* * *

**A/N: Heyo so I hoped you enjoy this chapter! A couple more and this first part of the story should be finished and we can move into the movie canon, exciting! For now, that's it, reviews are much appreciated and I'll see you guys…Whenever I sort out the next chapter lol!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry this came out so late, I got writer's block and I just didn't have time! But it's here now! I hope you enjoy.**

**Any readers of mine that live in the UK or have access to the BBC, WATCH HIS DARK MATERIALS RIGHT NOW. I loved these books as a kid and the first episode of the TV show was AMAZING and I am so excited for the rest of the series, I have been waiting for these books to come to life and ugh! They did it! I think if you live in the US (and have HBO) the episodes come out on a Monday evening?**

**CullenMia: You might be onto something there, the Renegades shouldn't have been able to get so powerful, unless there was someone helping them out hmmm… Ida knows who it is, or at least she'll figure it out. Ida and Steve are starting to realise that they're making more of an impact on one another than either of them expected, it's all a matter of where they'll go from here… **

**Thunderstrike16: Steve is not going to be happy about Hydra, and whether Ida knows about the Winter Soldier or not… Well, I can't give away too much. I picked Rosie mainly because she's hot and I have a massive crush on her. Plus, I think she kind of gives off the vibe that she could totally be running an underground, illegal business while looking absolutely stunning at the same time.**

_**Thanks to: CullenMia, Shinigamidemidragonslayer99, Thunderstrike16, Edwardlvr2317, OverThePixie, .Thought, Shopaholic-Pixxie, THatGurlx3, zikashigaku, BBTfankat, daeb, lostcause15, Guest and StoriesFromEnglandfor either leaving a review or following/favouriting on the last chapter! Your support is greatly appreciated, and we're already over fifty favourites? Amazing!**_

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Operation Silver**

_About A Mile Away from The Base of the Liberty Renegades_

_Dusk_

Truth be told, he had never graduated University, despite what he told everyone. He had lied to his parents, to all the people he used to work for, to all the jobs he had applied for. It had taken everyone so long to notice, with the simple excuse that the University made a mistake and he simply hadn't received his degree yet.

When, finally, people figured out he was a lying fraud, it was just so easy to say that University hadn't been the best place to be educated from anyway. The staff were useless and his fellow students worse. In fact, hadn't most of the students been females? Well, suddenly he was tweeting that they were all _bitches_ and why can't they _just make him a sandwich_. Come to think of it, hadn't some of them been black too? What a bunch of _thugs_ and _druggies_, it was just a fact that they were the more _violent race_.

He had been accused of hate speech and then of rape. The second charge he didn't really understand, the girl had said yes to him, granted she had been a _little_ drunk. She had only said stop about halfway through and, at that point, how could he stop? Any other man would understand. Luckily, his uncle's position in the courts had gotten him off scot-free, though the online world didn't stop accusing him of being a 'racist misogynist.'

He supposed that was how he ended up out here, in freezing cold Siberia, carrying a loaded rifle. He had heard of the Renegades of course, who all shared his beliefs and religion. They had welcomed him without judgement, he had a true family again, and was ready to carry out the cause that God had created him for.

Even if that cause was standing out guard in a snowy forest for six hours everyday. It would be worth it in the end, once they put Operation Silver into use and wiped out the Russian scum.

Maybe then he could—

The Renegade suddenly felt an arm wrap around his neck, so strong that it choked him with ease. They easily tugged the rifle out of his grip, and then covered his mouth to prevent him from making a noise.

"If you yell or scream," said an American, male voice, "I'll snap your neck. Where's the Renegade base?"

He just wanted to go back home to America, to Arizona. At least it was warm there.

"A mile that way," he pointed to the forest, wheezing as his lungs fought for air. "Please don't kill me."

"I won't," the voice promised.

But his airways were being cut off and, slowly, he saw the corners of his vision go black and his head felt light.

Steve released him when he stopped struggling, sure the boy had fallen unconscious. He peered at him, he couldn't be older than twenty-five. How easy was it to recruit young people into an organisation such as the Renegades? Oh well, it didn't matter now. He turned and continued on his way towards the direction he had pointed.

He had parked the bike they had taken a little way back, in order to make a stealthy approach. He was in the stealth suit designed by shield, a darker blue with a silver star in the centre, none of the classic red. His shield was clipped onto his back, red, white and blue, as he trod carefully through the snowy forest.

Honestly, it was reminding him of the older missions he used to do back in the day with the Howling Commandos. Being quiet was key and, despite how big he appeared to look, it didn't mean he couldn't sneak around. He'd be a terrible SHIELD agent if he plodded around like the hulk. Then again, he was alone this time. There was no fellow commandos watching his back, nor the reassurance that his best friend was over his shoulder with a sniper rifle. Hell, even the Avengers had gotten him used to working in a team again.

It was just Steve, on his own.

Unless he was heading towards where Ida was, and then he wouldn't be so alone.

The amount of trouble the woman seemed to bring with her and made him get used to fighting alongside her. They weren't too bad, working in a team. Besides, he hated working solo.

He just hoped Ida was alright, and alive.

He drew closer to the base, ducking behind a thick tree bank when he saw a figure. A man with a gun, standing guard like the other young man. His back was to him, so he didn't see when Steve unhooked the shield from his back and threw it at him. It hit the guard right in the centre of his spine, and he planted face-first into the snow with an 'oof.'

Steve stepped forward, checking he was unconscious when he heard a voice come over the guard's radio.

"Green, confirm position."

Steve had no idea what the man sounded like, so just put on a slightly thicker accent, "confirmed."

"Okay," the man on the radio responded. He sounded like how Martell had at the party, but he didn't seem suspicious that the voice wasn't Green. "Operation Silver is almost ready to go ahead. Stay at your station."

"Yes, sir," said Steve.

The radio cut out and Steve quickly trod on it. When he stood up, he could see a metal structure through the trees. Solid and grey, surrounded by vehicles he couldn't quite make out.

He drew closer, ducking behind a thick, snow-covered bush and peering through the foliage.

_This must be the base_, he realised silently as he saw the amount of guards around the perimeter increase from what he had seen before.

It wasn't anything massive, but it wasn nothing to be scoffed at either. In a way, it reminded Steve a little of a nuclear bunker, unbreachable, of the highest security. Around the base, there were jeeps and motorbikes, as well as trucks, no doubt loaded with weapons, that were being moved inside the base by a few men.

And…

_Is that a tank_? Thought Steve, spotting the heavy vehicle.

It wasn't currently in use, sitting stationary, but how a radical group like the Renegades had gotten their hands on weaponry like that was unbeknownst to him. He just had to hope he could do this quietly. He'd be no use to Ida if he was getting his head blasted off by a tank, so there would be no barging in with style through the front door.

He'd have to find another way in and, looking up, he might've just found one. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

* * *

Meanwhile, Ida had her ear pressed up to the door, trying to identify where exactly the two guards outside the door were and how difficult it would be to take them down. She could pick the lock without problem, and probably take down the guard that was closest to her then. But the second one would have time to realise she was attacking and shoot. Bam, she would then be dead or grievously injured, and Ida thought she was far too pretty to experience either of these things.

However, unlike some people (she was thinking of Steve), she always found talking and compromise was the best way around these things, so she stepped back from the door.

"I need to use the bathroom," she called out.

A pause, she heard some muttering and then a gruff voice.

"You'll stay in there," said one of the guards. "We don't want you trying anything."

She sighed, "but I'm desperate."

"I don't care."

Okay, time to pull out her best card.

"I'll give you something in exchange," she said, the coyness of her tone leaving enough up to imagination, but she couldn't help but add, "I'll even stay handcuffed if you want."

There was a pause and then she heard a key fitting into a lock.

_Men, _she thought to herself, _so easy to trick_.

They both walked in one after another, and it wasn't until the door was closing behind them did they realise that she was no longer handcuffed to a chair.

Ida, as quick as a flash, clicked her boots together, and the knives at the toes suddenly shot out. They hadn't thought to check her shoes for weapons. She grabbed the first guard by the neck and used him as a springboard to kick up both her legs and drive her knives into the chest of the second. The first man fell back, surprised by the sudden extra weight, taking Ida down with him. She smashed her elbow into his face and kicked him gun away, covering his mouth and putting pressure on his neck.

When he stopped struggling, she stood up and checked the other man. He was groaning on the floor, trying to reach for his radio. She sighed, pressing her boots together, causing the blades to retract. She then kicked the second man in the head, and he fell unconscious.

She took the keys off of the first guard, just in case, and slung both of their rifles around her shoulders, so the straps criss crossed over her chest. She then destroyed their radios, and left the room, locking the door behind her and putting the keys in her pockets, dusting her hands. A job well done.

Saint James had said down the radio to Martell to move along with Operation Silver. She could only assume that was the plan to give dump the Silver Virus into Kasnoyarsk's water supply, and she could also assume that she didn't have enough time to hang around to find out a plan. But could she do it alone? No, no way. She hoped Steve was here, but that might be a futile thing to hope.

For now, she would have to do this on the basis she was working on her own.

The corridor was grey and solid with no windows, so she had no idea where she was. That was fine, she'd just have to find some kind of exit in order to get a hint of her surroundings. Easier said than done though, and she began down the corridor by herself. Her feet barely echoed on the floor, despite wearing pretty heavy boots, she had been taught to master stealth at a young age. Besides, she was so blind in this corridor that she had to rely on hearing. She had no idea when a guard or a soldier could walk round the corridor.

For a second, she paused and looked to the side, thinking she had seen a window. It wasn't, it was a mirror.

She smirked at her reflection and winked.

"Looking good, Ida," she muttered to herself.

Who said being trapped in a terrorist base was going to stop her from giving herself an ego boost? There was nothing wrong with a bit of self-confidence.

_Concentrate_, said a voice in her head which sounded suspiciously like Steve.

Where was the way out? These corridors were all winding, a solid gray. Confusing and seemingly never ending.

She paused when she heard voices.

"Дерьмо," she swore.

She pedalled backwards several steps, grabbing the rifle she had slung over her shoulder. But there was no place in the corridor, and two Renegades turned the corner, seeing her instantly.

She pointed the rifle at one of them, who put his hands up, while the other aimed at her.

"You shoot him," he said, "I shoot you."

"Mexican stand-off," she muttered. "I can give you money."

"I don't want your money, Russian whore."

"Creative," she said, nonplussed, "got anymore?"

"Slut."

"Did you have a bad relationship with your mother? Because it sounds like you harbour a lot of hatred towards women."

"What?" He seemed to realise she was distracting him on purpose. "Whatever, lower the gun or I'll–"

He didn't manage to finish threatening her as something suddenly hit the back of his spine, causing his body to crumple forward. His partner looked confused but Ida moved quickly, surging forward and knocking him out with a sharp elbow to the head. Firing the gun would alert people of her position.

Satisfied they were both knocked out, she looked up to see her saviour.

"Steve," his name escaping her lips, heavy with relief.

He was holding his shield, in his full Captain America uniform.

"Ida," he grabbed her by the arms, suddenly very close to her. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"No, no," she shook her head, "I'm fine."

"You've got blood on your coat."

"I know right?" She glanced at where he looking. "It's so annoying, blood is so difficult to get out and this coat is expensive."

When she looked back up at him, he had a soft smile on his face.

"I was so worried," he admitted. "I thought I might not get here in time, that you'd already be dead."

"I'm fine, Steve," she said. "I knew you'd come."

For a few seconds, neither of them were aware of what was around them, just each other. Steve was still holding Ida's arms, but she was holding his as well, gun slung over her shoulder, gently looking up at him, her dark eyes warm.

And then she seemed to snap out of it.

"But we have to end this here," she said. "Saint James–"

"Saint?"

"Yeah, it's weird," she frowned. "But he's the Renegades leader, bit of a fanatic, I'm not sure if he's ever read the bible properly though. Anyway, he said he was pushing the plan forward. They're dumping the virus into the lake, we have to stop them."

His face hardened. "There's already a group of them gathered by the lake," he said, "I saw them on my way in."

"_How _did you get in?" Ida doubted Captain America could stroll through the entrance of a heavily armed fortress and _not _get noticed.

"There's an entrance through the roof," he said, gesturing down the corridor, "back there."

"Well, Captain, what's our plan of action?"

"This Saint James guy will be by the lake if he's their leader, probably. I can take him down, and this whole operation ends."

"I can find Martell," said Ida. "He sent for him to get the virus. We can't destroy it, but I can make sure it goes to somewhere more… secure."

"Find it," he said, "I'll find Saint James. Oh, and be careful of the tank."

"Tank?"

"They have a tank," Steve said. "These people have more power than they should for a bunch of crazed fanatics. I wonder how they made it this far without being recognised."

Ida swallowed, she had a feeling she knew might know who was behind all of this. That guilt gnawed at her again but she pushed it away, focus on the _now_, Ida.

"You look really dumb in that helmet," she said.

"Thanks," he muttered. "We don't have much time. Find Martell."

She nodded, already walking down the corridor, looking over her shoulder.

"Be safe, Boy Scout."

"You too, Ida."

After awhile of more corridor turning (which meant repeatedly getting lost and grumpily muttering to herself about a lack of signs) and dodging guards, she eventually realised she was getting nowhere. That was until she spotted the vent above her head.

Now, Ida usually got her information through contacts, torture and bribery, doing it first hand herself was rare. But sometimes she quite liked the thrill of spying, of hiding in the darkness or in disguise to listen to a little bit of information. She had been trained to do things like this, yet the thought of climbing through a vent in a dank, grey base like this was not pleasant.

However, she heard voices coming round the corners and her luck when it came to avoiding guards was slowing running out.

She was going to need a new coat.

She stood on her tiptoes and pulled the vent grate, it popped out with a quick tug, not properly screwed in right, and she easily clambered into it using her elbows to pull her forward. She was just able to half turn around and put the grate into place just as a pair of guards walked past. Neither of them paid the vent any mind, going about with their conversation.

Satisfied, she glanced forward, noticing how dark the passage ahead of her was. This was some die-hard shit.

She pulled herself forward as quietly as possible. As always, she was perfectly graceful, moving as if she had spent her entire life crawling through vents. Part of her was wishing she had something to pin her hair back as dust collected on her body. This whole mission had really ruined her pristine image, she thought as she held back a sneeze.

"I bet Steve didn't have to climb through any dark vents," she thought bitterly.

Suddenly, she spotted the faintest hint of life as well as whispering voices echoing from not so far away. She froze before realising she was near another vent grate. Determined, she pushed herself towards the filtering light and looked down.

Sure enough, she was just above a strange room which smelt like antiseptic and bleach, where she could see about three shapes moving.

Holding her breath, she pressed her face against the grate to get a better look. Two of them were wearing white lab coats, while the other looked familiar. Martell, she realised with a jolt. She was in the right place.

"Is everything ready?" She heard him demand.

There was a pause, and then a reply from the female scientist.

"Er- nearly but serum is quite unstable, maybe it would be better to hold back?"

Her English was slightly strange. _They're Russians_, realised Ida, _they must've been kidnapped by the Renegades when the stole the virus. _

"Nearly?" Repeated Martell, "_nearly_? You said it would be ready by now, it must be or on your head be it."

"It is! It is!" Clarified the male scientist in a panic. "We just… Are uncertain of how safely it is contained."

He held up a vial if clear liquid. Ida had little doubt that the virus was contained in that liquid, and she was right above it in prime position. But one wrong move could lead to it smashed on the floor, she would have to be more cautious than dropping down, or she could find herself suffering for it.

"It doesn't matter," snapped Martell, snatching the vial off of them. "If it's ready then it's ready."

He was getting ready to leave! It was now or never, Ida.

She sat up as tall as she could (by that, her spine was still bent as her head and shoulders rested on the ceiling) and pulled the rifle around her back so she was holding the butt of it. Then, with as much force as she could muster, she bought it down on the grate.

It clattered to the ground to the surprise as all of those in the room, and it was quickly followed by Ida, who was ready to land straight onto Martell's back.

But in the man's shock, he took a step forward and dropped the vial. Ida landed on her shoulder, but quickly swiped out a hand to grab it before it could smash on the floor.

Someone kicked her in the head, Martell, and she dropped it. But it didn't smash as she was already lying on her slide, but rolled under a desk. He went to run for it, but she grabbed his leg and tugged him backwards so he face planted on the floor. But, when she tried to get to her own feet, he did the same to her.

She kicked him in the face, but he kept a solid hand around her shin that she couldn't wriggle out of. With a snarl, she went to elbow him but he simply fought back against her. The two rolled over the floor, until he shoved her against a lab table, smashing her head against it.

It dazed her for only a second, and she surged forward, pushing herself on her feet when she went and shoving him back against the wall, punching him in the nose and hearing a satisfying crack.

"Bitch!" He screeched and grabbed her throat.

But she was better trained than that and twisted his arm before punching him again, this time in the throat. He stumbled to the side, away from her, clawing at his windpipe and gasping for air.

Satisfied, she ran from him and ducked down, scooping the vial up from where it had rolled underneath the desk. When she stood up, Martell had managed to grab one of the scientists, the man, and had a gun to his head.

"Move," he said, "and I'll blow his brains out!"

Ida gestured for the female scientist to get behind her and glared at Martell, holding the vial in the air.

"You shoot him," she said, "and I let this shatter on the floor. That'll put a dent in your plan, won't it?"

"You'll get all of us infected!"

"Better than one million people."

"It's easier just to let me shoot him," he said, "you live and escape that way."

The male scientist looked incredibly nervous.

Her eyes narrowed, "not a chance. I'm in no mood to trade lives of anyone, not today."

"He's just Russian–"

"Scum?" She finishes for him. "I've listened to enough of your ideological crap. Release him or I drop the vial and earn us all a slow death."

The female scientist whimpered, obviously she knew enough about the Silver Virus to know how painful a death it would be.

Martell looked torn for a moment and then, slowly, he released the male scientist and shoved him to the side.

Just as she predicted, he moved to fire at her. She jolted her head to the side and shot at him with her own rifle but missed just as badly as he had with her.

Suddenly, they were both in too close a range to each other to even think about shooting, and he was grappling for the vial, which forced her to drop the rifle. She kicked him in the stomach, a move that made them both stumble back.

He pointed his handgun at her, she put her arms up.

"You shoot me," she said, "I'll drop the vial."

"I'll catch it."

"You willing to risk that?"

"Yeah."

She was fucked.

Then came the sound of smashing glass. Ida flinched back and closed her eyes, expecting a bullet but it never came. Instead, Martell was on the floor, his head bleeding as he was surrounded by the shattered shards of a scientific beaker. The male scientists had cracked open the back of Martell's head with it. Knocking him out or killing him.

Ida let out a sigh of relief and popped the vial away in her breast pocket.

"Спасибо," she thanked him and didn't wait around any longer.

She had to find the way out, through the way Steve had come in, the roof. She hoped she wasn't too late and the Renegades hadn't shot him down.

But, as she ran down the corridor, she couldn't help but suddenly backtrack to look at something she had seen hanging up on the wall in a room which door had been left open.

"Oh," she murmured to herself, breathless, but a grin was spreading across her face. "That's what I'm talking about."

* * *

Steve was on his own again, walking through the snow as he knocked another Renegade unconscious. The shadow of the base loomed over him, casting him in darkness, dusk was falling across the area, convenient for hiding. His eyes shifted warily to the tank, but it wasn't currently in use. If he did this as quietly as possible, it wouldn't be a problem.

He could see the glittering water of the lake, not quite full frozen over yet as Fall turned to Winter. He could also see the shapes of men, as well as their voices. They were gathered their, waiting as if it was some kind of ceremony. What were they planning? To drop a deadly disease into the water that fed a million people, and pray about it with their false leader, Saint James? Steve was a religious man, which made him more certain that he wanted nothing more than to finish this fake saint and is crazy cult.

He moved around, edging around the snowy trees, sticking to the shadows and making sure to keep quiet and hidden as he drew closer to the crowd of Renegades. Most of them were gathered by the lake shore, in a semi-circle around a man (with two very beefy men standing either side of him) that Steve could only presume was Saint James himself. He had his arms raised up, as though he were a priest giving mass. But he was also aware that taking these guys down wouldn't defeat the Renegades, not all of them at least. The Silver Virus was the key, he had to hope Ida could get to it in time.

"Let us pray," said Saint James, pressing his hands together and closing his eyes. All the men in the group copied. It was like church. "Our time has almost come, Liberty Renegades, when Martell returns with the vial, it will be our time to show this country true, American power."

Steve was starting to realise there would be know sneaking up on a group as large as this. So, he might as well take a piece from Ida's book and make an interesting first impression.

He threw his shield in the direction of one of the men, it bounced off of his chest and headed straight for Saint James.

He dodged it by simply side stepping it, somehow seeing it with closed eyes, so it recotched off the tree behind him and hit another, confused Renegade before returning to Steve.

He stood up straight, fastening the shield into his armholds, looking like a real patriot. He could picture the rather mocking expression on Ida's face without her being here.

Instantly, the Renegades aimed at him. Yet, his risk paid off.

"Captain Rogers," greeted Saint James, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. "It is so nice to finally meet face-to-face. Lower your guns, men. What we see here is a true American."

"You admit you're not a true American?"

"Maybe after today, we will be."

"We had words for people like you back in those days, but the politest one I can think of is _bully_."

Saint James' ethereal smile dropped, but only for a second. Yet, it was satisfying to know that Steve had landed a decent enough insult on the man to offend him for a fleeting moment.

"Captain," he said, voice calm and collected, "how about you join us. Or has your mind been corrupted too far?"

"Corrupted?"

"By that Russian Whore."

Now, if Ida had been standing right next to him, she would've done that sultry laugh of hers, shrugged her shoulders and probably make a suggestive comment before joking that Saint James was a virgin. But the thought of Ida's general wit was not enough to stop the rage that suddenly erupted from his stomach from boiling over.

He wasn't really himself when a warm but unnatural smile creeped over his face and he took a step towards Saint James, who seemed to be more than happy to welcome the American Patriot to get closer, waving down his guards.

"You're right," he nodded his smiler becoming thinner. "She did corrupt me."

And then he clocked Saint James right across the jaw.

He ducked underneath the punch of one of the beefy bodyguards and grabbed his shield, smashing it in his face and flipping it back over. He then ducked behind it from gunfire that suddenly came in his direction and scrambled back behind a tree, letting the bullets tear through the bark instead.

He had originally estimated about twenty men, but that couldn't be right. It sounded like only five guns were going off, surely they were all armed.

He glanced around the tree before ducking back behind it as a stray bullet barely skimmed the top of his head, but that second glimpse was all he needed.

Someone had been shouting orders to the men, but only five were obeying it. Most had dropped their guns, ran or were milling uncertainly. He supposed it made sense, when your Pro-American group started ordering you to kill Captain _America_, you would become disillusioned as well.

Five people he could deal with. It was a Thursday afternoon for him while working at SHIELD.

He charged forward with his gun, his vibranium shield ricocheting bullets with a 'ping' right back at the gunman. One down. The one next to him was easy to deal with, a simple knock with his shield and the man was out. He turned around and saw the third and fourth firing at him at the same time. He raised his shield and ducked, but felt something pierce his side.

He threw the shield at one of them, hitting him in the chest, and rolled out of the way of the other one, grabbing the shield as it came back and tossing it at him too. With two more gumen down, he turned to the final one.

A young boy, abandoned by all his fellow Renegades.

Steve stood up straight, putting the shield on his back and looking at the boy.

"You don't want to do this, son. Just walk away."

He considered it for a few seconds, before dropping the rifle and legging it.

Steve heard a groan, Saint James, his face coloured with a red mark that would turn into an ugly bruise, and a heavily bleeding nose. He ignored him, feeling his side. His suit was stained red with blood, a bullet must've caught him without him really noticing. Oh well, it would be healed within the day.

"You…" Groaned James. "You… Are a traitor."

"Yeah?"

"To your country…"

"What can I say, I'm just not into white supremacy."

James laughed, and then coughed before laughing again.

"Not that," he said, "you're hardly intelligent, Rogers, I know my cause would never be popular consensus. That woman, she's Russia's weapon."

"Not anymore," he said. "She left that behind."

"Like she's a better person now," he laughed again, "she still came here to protect her homeland, didn't she, hm? I wonder if she would've stayed the same for any other country. She's caused so much slaughter with her work, her job. All you need is the right price."

Steve looked at him grimly and walked towards him, he was fed up of listening to him.

But, before Steve could knock him out with a swift blow, James had one last thing to say.

"She's not Russia's only weapon, you know. They have one more and I'll say," he chuckled and looked around the forest, covered in snow. "It's almost his season."

Steve had enough, he knocked him out. He had no desire to listen to anymore ramblings of the lunatic, he had to make sure Ida was alright.

He moved towards the base, approaching the front entrance where he had knocked out the guards earlier before suddenly hearing a voice.

"Captain Rogers," said a man through a speaker, "drop your shield, turn around and put your hands up, or we _will _fire."

He swore quietly to himself and did as they said, turning around. How the hell did he forget about the tank?

He glared at the heavy vehicle, it looked Russian, a stolen tank, and raised his hands in the air in surrender. He might be Captain America, but he was hardly immune to large caliber, high velocity, tank guns.

"Now," said the man in the tank, "take two steps—"

Whether he would say forwards or backwards or sideways, Steve would never know as the cockpit of the tank was suddenly blown to smithereens.

He stumbled back in surprise, looking up to see where the hell that had came from.

"Holy shit!" Swore a familiar voice with a slight lilt to the accent. "That's got a kick to it, oh that's amazing."

He looked up to see the Woman of Whispers herself, standing on the roof. Caked in dust, blood smattered on her coat with a slash across her forehead. She was holding a giant missile launcher, propped up on her shoulder, the smile spread across her face was goofier, brighter grin than he had ever seen.

"Ida!" He yelled.

She looked away from the destroyed tank and down at him, the grin somehow growing wider.

"I'm jumping," she yelled, moving to the edge of the roof.

"What?" He yelled but she had already jumped and he already had his arms outstretched to catch her.

"You're okay," she said in relief, wrapping his arms around him without really noticing she was doing. "I was so worried, you have no idea. I found Martell and a few scientists, I nearly dropped the vial but it's fine. I have it, it's in my pocket, do—"

"Ida, stop talking for three seconds," he said, but he wasn't being mean. He hardly noticed her arms were around him either, as he was still gripping her waist after catching her.

"Sorry," she gave him a sheepish smile, "it's all I know how to do." She suddenly looked down and then up, smile gone. "Steve, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine," he shook his head. "Enhanced healing, bullet barely just scraped me. That cut on your head?"

"Oh, I don't know. Me and Martell did a lot of rolling around on the floor," she paused and then smirked, like she couldn't help herself. "But not in the fun way. Saint James?"

"Knocked out, most of the Renegades made a run for it."

"Most of them are just radicalised kids," she then sighed. "I bet I look like shit."

"You look fine, Ida."

"I had to crawl through a vent," she said, "I would've rather been listening to Saint James ramble on about religion or something. I'm covered in dust! I'll need at least three showers. Don't even get me started on my coat."

"Ida," he said, brushing her hair out of her face. "I think it's impossible for you to ever look not beautiful."

She blinked in surprise, but it was gone in a flash, replaced with a typical smirk. "That's the nicest thing a man has ever said to me, Boy Scout."

"You obviously haven't been talking to the right men."

"I can rearrange that," she said and then paused. "How does dinner sound?"

He frowned, "well—"

He didn't get a chance to finish his answer as suddenlyblack SUVS began pulling up around the base. As though they only just realised how close they were standing to each other. Ida put her hands in her pockets, peering around at the cars as she clicked her heels together, revealing the knives from her boots. Steve picked up his shield, ignoring the pain in his side, ready to fight again. Who the hell were we beating up _this _time?

However, the two people that stepped out of the nearest black SUV were hardly enemies though.

"Now this is something you really have to look at with your own eyes to believe," said Director Fury, who seemed to be wearing the same thing he always did despite the cold weather.

"Director," greeted Ida with a coy smile.

"Fury," Steve greeted with less enthusiasm.

"I see you guys have made a mess of everything," he sighed. "And I'll be the one forced to explain that to the Russian Government."

"It's better than letting the entire population of a city get a deadly disease," pointed out Natasha, who was wearing a thick fur coat. She looked at Ida. "You're stealing my reputation of superhero."

"Oh, hardly," Ida shrugged, "it'll be back to the same old tomorrow."

Steve's heart sank a little but he pushed the feeling away.

"How did you know we were here?" He asked.

"Well, we knew you were out of the country," said Fury, "but we didn't know where. My bet was on the Bahamas. Anyway, we got a call from your friend, Miss Delgrave, who let us know that you were heading to Uyar. From there, it wasn't difficult to find you both."

"Well, we're very grateful you showed up about five minutes too late," she paused and then went. "Oh, there's a couple kidnapped, Russian scientists in there, they might need a bit of help."

Fury nodded to two agents behind him and they headed in.

"Where's the virus?" Asked Fury.

Ida froze, Steve noted this.

"Who is it being handed over to?" She asked.

"The Russian government," he said, "they'll probably insist on it. I imagine they'll tighten security to a hundred percent."

Ida relaxed slightly, but not fully, she pulled out a vial of clear liquid and handed it to the Director.

"We'll be in charge of cleaning up here," said Natasha. "Making arrests, et cetera. It looks like you too could do with a wash."

"Yeah," muttered Ida in glum agreement.

"And maybe some dinner," added Steve, looking meaningfully at Ida.

Natasha noted the look, eyes flicking between the two of them.

Ida smiled at Steve, "that sounds good." She yawned, "and a nap, God, I'm tired."

"Agent Smith will give you a ride back," said Fury before continuing. "Don't think you'll get away with doing an unsanctioned mission, by the way, Rogers."

Steve just shrugged, it certainly wouldn't be the first time he had been chewed out for that.

* * *

**A/N: DONE! FINALLY! Next chapter in like sixteen years (I'm kidding). But I really need to go to bed.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Really felt like Lana Del Rey was the mood for this chapter and, to be fair, she fits Ida rather well. Either way, if you want to feel the atmosphere of this certain chapter (especially **_**one **_**specific scene) then I would definitely recommend the Born to Die album, specifically 'Video Games.'**

**Zikashigaku: I'm glad you liked the launcher scene! It was one I had been excited to write for a while. And, yes, Natasha can definitely sense something going on between the two of them, as we know from the second CATWS, she likes keeping up with Steve's love life. Really glad you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for reviewing!**

**Hermione Romanoff: This is going to probably be quite a slow burn (though probably not as slow as Hidden in Plain Sight as I'm pretty sure that took like 60 something chapter for Adara to finally get her act together and go out with Peter). Luckily, I think I've recovered from a writer's block, or at least writing this chapter felt like it came very easily. Thank you for leaving a review! And I hope this chapter is good enough for you :)**

**CullenMia: You'll see a bit of Ida's reasonings in this chapter, and why she is the way she is, but not quite the full story yet. However, her job and general, moral code is going to be the biggest wall between Steve and her. **

_**Thanks to: Sinner2016, Dark Angel 792, zikashigaku, Hermione Romanoff, MommaWolf18, Astrid345, Thunderstrike16, Elizabetch, CullenMia, Pete-Wentz-from-Mcr, ColetheNinjaofEarth'sFanGirl, LegallyBlondeAngel, ingisned, lostcause15 and Awestruck16 for either leaving a review or following/favouriting on the last chapter! I love you guys so much, thank you so much for all the support on this story!**_

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Two Worlds**

_Later that Night_

_10:00pm_

_Krasnoyarsk_

For some reason, despite how intelligent they both seemed when they both worked together, neither of them had thought to shower _before _they went out to eat.

So, they sat in a rather fancy restaurant Ida had located in Krasnoyarsk, covered in muck, sweat and (in her case) blood. They did get a few weird looks from fellow patrons, but this was Russia and people kept to their own business, and the waiters acted like they had obviously seen worse. They probably had.

"So," said Ida after chewing a mouthful of strange fish that Steve didn't recognise. "World saved, people not dead, terrorists arrested. Now what?"

"We finish our dinner?" He said.

"Hm," she nodded and took a sip of her red wine. "Obviously, but what after? I don't know about you, but I'm way too tired to get on a plane."

"We'll go back to a hotel for the night," said Steve. "At least now you know no one is going to be trying to kill us in our sleep." He paused, "right?"

"Don't think so," she said, "it's still a possibility. Fury said a call came in and told SHIELD what we were doing." Her face turned thoughtful, "I wonder who it could be…"

"Misha, probably," he said.

Ida obviously hadn't considered it, as she nodded with rather wide eyes. "Oh, yeah, probably," she leant back in her chair, taking another sip. "Knew it wouldn't take him long to attempt to make up with me. I'll leave him hanging for a couple more weeks though."

"Didn't he betray you?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," she shrugged, "wouldn't be the last time. You get used to it after a while," a look crossed her expression for a fleeting moment, before being replaced by the typical, cocky Ida. "Besides, it's not like I'm the most loyal woman either."

His expression softened, "I won't betray you, Ida."

She shook her head, not looking him in the eye. "Steve, I…" But the right words didn't come to her. "It doesn't matter. Betrayal, not betrayal. Whatever it is, we've saved the day, defeated the baddies. We should be celebrating. What did you guys do when you saved New York?"

"Got shawarma."

She wrinkled her nose, "no doubt boring, fast food. What you need after a long day is some decent food," she gestured to her plate, "and a bottle of wine." She paused, contemplating her next words before putting on a coy look. "And sex."

He gave her an unamused expression, "wine hardly has an effect on me anymore. As for the last thing, I think sleep might do us better."

Ida threw her head back and laughed, and it was a joyful, musical thing. Steve could tell that, while she wasn't drunk, she definitely wasn't sober. Obviously, the wine had left her a little tipsy.

"Of course," she said and took another drink. "And then I assume it's back to business as usual. I mean, me back to my work and you back to being a SHIELD agent." At Steve's silence, she prompted him. "What's wrong?"

"Why didn't SHIELD do anything about the Renegades. They knew they were there, obviously, but Fury just dismissed the order to do so."

"I imagine he was ordered to."

"Ordered by who?" He looked doubtful. "The World Security Council? He told them to kiss his ass after New York, so why start obeying orders now."

"It might not be the World Security Council," theorised Ida, though she was picking at her food. "Or it might be. I imagine Fury is the kind of guy who picks and chooses what orders he's interested in following."

Steve looked at her, "you don't know?"

She shook her head. "I don't. I may be the Woman of Whispers, Steve, but I don't know everything."

There was something defensive about her tone, and something else that Steve couldn't quite pinpoint. He didn't push it though, they weren't there to talk politics, they were there to have dinner.

"Either way," said Steve, "we've stopped it now."

"We have indeed," she snorted. "Once again, Captain America beats the baddies."

"He didn't do it on his own."

"Of course not, he had the help of his much prettier sidekick," she flashed a movie star smile. "Although, I do think of myself of a more femme fatale kind of character. Russian Girls are never the good guys."

"Romanoff. You."

"Steve, you might be right with Romanoff but don't kid yourself with me."

He didn't and she seemed grateful for it.

"Well you definitely did the right thing this time."

"Well," she raised her half-empty glass, covered in grime and blood, "here's to doing the right thing."

Steve, still in his uniform and shield leaning against the chair, raised his own, still full glass, "the right thing."

And they clinked their glasses together."

* * *

After dinner, they stepped outside to find it pouring it down. Steve stood out in in for a few seconds, to see how bad it was, but Ida remained under shelter for a moment, her hair already wrecked enough as it was.

"It's not too bad," he said.

"Still," she shrugged and reached into her pocket, pulling out an umbrella. "It's always important to be prepared."

"Where did you get that?"

"Always carry one with me," she said.

Steve rolled his eyes as she fumbled an attempt to open it, her hands trembling slightly. She must've had more wine that she had thought. Steve took it from her and opened it fully, holding it up above his head and gesturing for her to come out from underneath the shelter.

She gave him a rather cynical smile and stood under the umbrella, moving to take it back from him, but he kept a hold of it, making sure to keep it over her head.

"What a gentleman," she tittered as they headed out down the street. "You can really sense the forties in you. You must've had all the girls swooning over you back then."

"You didn't see me back then," he said. "I was shorter than you, and definitely skinnier, which is tricky to pull off." Ida laughed at that. "No, Buck was the charmer back then."

This was the first time Ida had heard Steve mention his old, famously best friend. She knew very little about him, other than something about being a howling commando and something about him tragically falling to his death in a mission. Everyone had someone dead in their backstory, she supposed it motivated them to be a superhero. Then again, she knew plenty of dead people, and she lacked the motivation to be any kind of Avenger.

"Not a chance," she said, "you're easily the better looking."

"Have you ever seen a picture of Bucky?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No," she considered it, "or, I can't remember seeing one. I reckon, though, he certainly had one up over you before the serum. After, however..."

"He wasn't happy to find out I was now taller than him."

She laughed, "I bet he wasn't. What was he like?"

Steve seemed to so easily be able to talk about Bucky Barnes, that Ida couldn't help but marvel at it. He recounted a few double dates, in which Steve came off as a total, dorkish fool, while Bucky came off as a real ladies man. It was obviously the two had been very close, and even more obvious that Steve hadn't had many people other than him while growing up. Ida wondered what it was like to have a friend that you were so close to.

"How long did you know Bucky for?"

"My whole life," said Steve with a heavy sigh, "he was my best friend."

"I can't imagine what that was like."

"I thought you had Natasha."

"Romanoff wasn't a friend," said Ida with a shake of her head. "She was... a comrade, I guess. It was us two versus every single other girl who trained there, it was us two at the top, keeping each other from being beaten but we knew that one day, only one of us could really win." Her eyes tracked a traffic light go from red to amber to green. "I suppose we had a bond of sorts. It was that bond that stopped Natasha from putting a bullet through my head."

Steve looked hesitant for a moment, but then asked what was obviously on his mind.

"Why was she ordered to kill you?"

"I was eighteen," she shrugged, "I had been gaining a reputation as the Woman of Whispers, especially after my past run-ins with Ryok and the Veselov family. And, it was around then that the KGB discovered my whereabouts and what I knew of the Red Room, they decided it was best off to have me dead. So, they sent the Black Widow."

"But she couldn't do it?" He said.

"She couldn't," she shook her head. "I was barely eighteen, I'd just gone through the worst few years of my life and was coming out of it to create a small business with no real grounds, I didn't even have that much of a reputation and emotionally—" she cut herself off with a laugh. "Natasha must've seen me for the wreck I was and took pity on me. I think I needed that pity. It was one of her first missions, she failed."

"You two were closer than you must've thought."

"Maybe," said Ida with a shrug, "but she ended up going down a better path than me anyway. Funny that," she smiled to herself but it was without humour.

"Ida, I—"

"Steve, I want you to understand me," she said and suddenly stopped in her tracks.

Steve walked ahead a little bit before realising she had stopped, and turned to see her standing in the rain, a serious look etched on her face as she looked at him with more sincerity than Steve had ever seen on her face.

"What do you mean?" He said, walking over to her and quickly covering her head with the umbrella.

"All my life, it's been fine," she said with a sigh, "I've never felt the need to explain myself or what I do to anyone. To get buy, to make a living, to stay rich, that's all I say and dismiss any criticisms with a shrug of my shoulders." She jabbed a finger at her chest, "but I know who I am, and I know what I do is horrible. And I've always thought that was fine. Yet, for some strange reason, I want you to understand why I do it."

She jabbed a finger at his chest, rather aggressively, but he obviously didn't flinch. He grabbed her hand, and steadied, feeling it tremble slightly from her tipsiness.

"Why?" Was all he asked.

"Because I'm afraid of death," she said. "When I was fifteen, and I had just escaped the Red Room, I almost starved to death on the streets of Moscow. And then I saw two young people, both well off, making out in an alleyway and I held a gun to them, just a scrawny teen, and demanded they give me all the money and jewellery they had on them. They did, the poor woman was crying but I found food and shelter and lived for another day."

Steve didn't interrupt her, though he was unsure whether she would usually say this, or whether it was the drink talking. She was hardly out of her mind drunk, nor was she even really 'drunk' at all, but she certainly was tipsy.

"The next day, the woman's husband found me, pointed a gun to my face and ordered me to return all the money and jewellery I had stolen off his wife," she said. "And you know what I said to him?"

"What did you say?"

"I told him I could return the money I had stolen off of his wife," she said, "I told him I would do it now. But what would I do with the money I had stolen off of her lover? Because he certainly hadn't been the same man I had seen her snogging in that alleyway." She wasn't even looking at him, absorbed in a memory. "And he was furious, so distracted that I easily knocked the gun out of his hand and ran away with everything I had stolen." Her gaze suddenly turned to him. "That's where I learnt it, Steve, that's where I learnt how much information is worth. And it kept me alive, and that's all I wanted."

"Ida—"

"Do you understand that?" She asked, "do you understand me?"

She was gripping his hand, and he was gripping back, both interlocked around the umbrella handle. But her look was desperate, searching trying to read him.

"I'll always understand you, Ida," he said, "but I can't..."

"You can't like it," she said, nodding, "I know. You're a good man, Captain, and I hate that. I hate that I came here with you and I hate that I care about what you think. I shouldn't care, because whatever you think... It's going to be the right thing."

"I'm not always right, Ida," he said, brushing her hair out of her face. "I'm not perfect."

"You're right at least ninety percent of the time," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"Why do you care what I think?" He said, "I thought you didn't care what anyone thought."

"That's what I thought," she confessed, and then let a small, halfhearted smile graced her features. "And then you had to come in and screw it all up. There's just something about you, boy scout."

She studied his face carefully with her intense set of dark eyes, they looked strange with the lights of cars and the city reflecting off of them, as she tilted her head to look at him.

"I think there might be something about you too, Ida Delgrave," he admitted, putting a hand on her face and she didn't push it away but lent into it.

"Oh yeah?" She said, her expression shifting to that typical, coy look. "Does that have something to do with the tank I blew up, saving your ass?"

"There's something to be said for that," he said but didn't properly finish the last word anyway.

If either one of them had been the instigator, neither of them would be sure of which one it had been. But both of them had moved in towards it, hands tightening over their shared grip of the umbrella, fingers interlocking while Ida draped an arm around the back of his neck, and he kept his other one brushing her cheek.

Their lips met, firm and secure, Ida's breath hitched but only for a moment as she sank into it, pulling herself closer to Steve until she could smell the snow and forest that radiated off of him after their earlier fighting. But it seemed so long ago compared to this, as the past and present melted away into a single kiss. And it seemed so childish for her for a few seconds, to be so overwhelmed by it, it was hardly her first kiss. In fact, it was likely the tamest kiss she had ever had. Unlike other men, Steve maintained the respect he had even like this, his lips were soft and his touch gentle. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that this was the best kiss she had ever had.

Yet, it seemed to end suddenly, and neither of them were sure whether they had just done the right thing.

"That was," she breathed, "interesting."

It was an understatement.

"You didn't have to say anything," he pointed out, rather amused.

"Yeah, I know," she reflected that he was probably right.

She tried to inspect him, read his mind, but he could master such a neutral expression that he might as well be a brick wall sometimes. Why should she care anyway? She had never cared what a man had thought of her before, unless it was to gage whether or not she could make a lot of money out of them. But this was Steve... This was different. She would make no monetary gain out of this, she wasn't trying to get him to give her information, she had just done this because she wanted to. Really wanted to. And now she was regretting it? Or was she. Or was she worried that he was regretting it? But then he wouldn't have kissed back, would he?

God, why was she tearing herself up over this. She was the Woman of Whispers, these things didn't matter.

"The hotel's just there," she nodded to the end of the street.

It was only then did Steve seem to become aware that they were standing in the middle of the street. He nodded to Ida and the two of them walked the thankfully brief walk back to the hotel in silence.

Ida wished Steve a quick goodnight and closed the door behind her, sinking back against it. He hadn't said another word, he barely seemed to realise what they had done. Had it meant the same to him that it had to her? She didn't even know what it meant to her.

The only thing she really wanted to do was to crash into bed and fall into a sleep where she wouldn't be forced to think about it. Yet, she still had to shower and put herself together. She looked like a wreck after today, and even worse after whatever had just happened, a shower could make her feel better.

A shower, and some whiskey, that she for certain.

* * *

_The Next Morning_

_9:00am_

Physically, Steve couldn't get hangovers, it would take something seriously strong (and a lot of it, at that) for him to even feel tipsy. Yet, the headache he woke up with that morning gave him the distinct reminder of the way his fellow Howling Commandos used to feel after a long night out at the pub.

Groaning, he pushed himself out of bed and, rubbing his forehead, went into the bathroom. He had showered the night before, so no longer looked as horrific as he had done. Though, he still didn't look great, he splashed cold water on his face to make him feel awake a little and glanced at his Captain America suit, left on the bathroom floor, covered in grime and blood from his wound the night before. It had completely healed up now, but the red against the blue material was a reminder of it.

It would take some seriously washing to get that out, though he would just make Fury deal with the laundry, it was his fault Steve had been forced to handle this situation without SHIELD, if he had given him the order to, he wouldn't have had to handle it alone.

Then again, he hadn't exactly handled it alone, had he?

"Oh, God," memories of him and Ida last night suddenly hit him and reminded him why he had such a bad headache.

Overthinking.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about the way he had gripped Ida tight, the smell of morning dew and perfume clinging to her, as well as the slightly metallic taste of blood that lingered on her coat. God, she had looked beautiful too. Her dark eyes, blonde hair curled from the hurry of the day, thick eyelashes that she gazed up at him through.

He had enjoyed the kiss, he couldn't deny that, but what had it meant?

That was a question he wasn't ready to answer. Last night had left him confused, he hadn't even known what to say to Ida, he had probably come off as cold and regretful, and he hadn't meant either of those things. But when he hadn't said anything, he had seen the way Ida's expression had shifted to hurt for a swift second, before she pulled up her usual armour and told him the hotel was just down the road.

Truthfully, he had been slightly scared that he would grab her and kiss her again. Why? He had no idea.

Maybe, he thought, if he talked to Ida about it, they might be able to work things out. Besides, they had to go home today, he didn't want an awkward flight in silence. He shouldn't have been so quiet last night, but at least they now how time to think and mull it all over.

He pulled on jeans and a shirt, and left his room, walking over to the neighbouring one and giving it a knock. No response, he checked the time, Ida was usually awake at this time.

"Ida?" He called through the door after another knock without response. "Are you in there?"

He sighed and gave up after another attempt. Part of him was tempted to open the floor himself, it's not like he didn't have the strength to break the lock. But, that _would _be an invasion of privacy, she could be getting changed, sleeping or showering. He thought he would be better off checking the hotel lobby in search of some form of breakfast.

He had half hoped that walking down the stairs to the modest reception that he would see the blonde head of hair that was Ida, grinning at him and ready to start the day, or launch a new problem on him, more goons to take down without problem, like they had before.

Instead, to his surprise, he saw a redhead.

"Agent Romanoff," he said in greeting, "what are you doing here?"

"I come bearing messages from both the Woman of Whispers and Fury himself."

He was far more curious by the first prospect, "what did Ida say?"

"Urgent business to attend to at about four this morning," said Natasha, "had to quickly fly back over to DC. She called me and told me to give you a lift home via the SHIELD jets, and she's very sorry for bailing without warning."

It would explain why he got no response when he knocked. Though, steve didn't quite know how to react to that, but he doubted whether Ida actually had urgent business or not, and had just left in order to get away from an awkward conversation. Steve couldn't blame her if it was the reason why. But maybe it meant she regretted it, somehow the thought of that hurt like a punch to the gut. Maybe he regretted it, but his heart wasn't really telling him that. If there was one thing for certain, it had been wrong. Not the act of kissing her. But the circumstances, the people that they were… It was all so muddled.

He let none of this inner turmoil show on his face though, as he gave Natasha a brief nod.

"And Fury's message?" He prompted.

"To put it briefly," Natasha folded her arms over her chest, "he wants to yell at you for being reckless."

He laughed, "show me where he is, I have my own piece of mind for Fury. Such as, not trying to stop a terror cell in Russia."

"I'm sure secretly," she said, "in his cold, black heart, the Director is very grateful."

Steve doubted that, but simply nodded and told Natasha he would get his things together. At least now he could get his mind off Ida.

* * *

_Washington DC_

_7:00pm_

Ida glanced at her watch as she walked into the apartment, and nodded to herself. It had been a long flight home, and she had urgent business to attend to. And, by that, she meant going over to her liquor cabinet filled with expensive alcohol, finding the strongest gin she could, and grabbing tonic water, before pouring it over a small glass with ice in.

Okay, maybe it wasn't _that _urgent business, but she found that her own drinks at home were far superior than in any other country.

She took a sip and walked over to her window, relaxing slightly now that she was back in her own apartment, looking out of her own window with her own drink in hand.

She felt something brush against her legs.

"Hey, Circe," she greeted and the cat gave an annoyed meow in response. "Has Martin been looking after you well? I bet he has, you two can be as grumpy as each other sometimes."

The black cat meowed again and Ida rolled her eyes, putting her glass back down on the counter and pouring some food into the cat's bowl, before hearing her own stomach growl, she hadn't eaten since their dinner the night before. It didn't feel like long ago now but, then again, she was currently on Russian time.

She knew bailing on Steve like that had been an asshole thing to do, but she couldn't handle the anxiety that had been slowly creeping up on her, keeping her awake all night. So, she had told Natasha that she had urgent business (the redhead didn't sound than convinced down the phone, and she doubted Steve would believe it either) and had called in a pilot to get her back. She had tried to sleep throughout the flight, but her mind felt tortured.

She took another sip of her drink and willed herself to stop thinking about it.

Steve was just another man, and she had kissed dozens, if not _hundreds _of men. For business, for information, for money, for desire, for entertainment. But none of it had came from any kind of emotion, her most long-lasting relationship had been with Misha, and that wasn't because of any kind of feelings, it was just as they did with business with each other during the day and slept with each other at night.

But Steve? Oh, Steve was something else. Part of her was scared she had been a real idiot and had caught feelings for the Golden Boy himself.

The Russian Criminal falling for Captain America, she laughed to herself at its absurdity. She couldn't afford to get to close to Steve, their playful flirting had meant to go nowhere, mean nothing. Yet, here she was, caught up in her own feelings.

"You really are an idiot, Ida Delgrave," she whispered to herself.

She felt her pocket buzz and took out her phone, an incoming call from an unknown number, which usually meant someone shadier than usual wanted to strike up a deal with her. Nothing unusual, she picked it up without hesitation.

"Hello?" She said, "who is this? How can I help you?"

"_Miss Delgrave_," came a familiar voice.

There was a reminder at why being too close to Steve was a bad thing.

"Pierce," she forced the warmth into her voice as she returned the greeting. "It's been a while since I've heard from you, which is a real shame. Though, I think I know why you're calling."

"_You do?_"

"I mean Saint James, Pierce," she scoffed, "there was no way that man or his cult of weirdos was going to be able to get their hands on a tank without some generous donor. Nor would they have been able to grow so large without, say, someone turning a blind eye. I know your people, you love chaos, and the Renegades certainly promised that."

"_That was until you interrupted._"

"Yes, I have to say in an uncharacteristic moment of bravery," she took another swig. "No need to thank me, Pierce," her tone dripped with sarcasm, "I am _quite _the hero."

"_I assume the Captain paid you for your help_."

"Hardly," she said, "I just had no interest in seeing one million people being infected by a horrible Virus. I'm sure you can understand where I'm coming from there."

"_You're morality code is quite skewed, Woman of Whispers_."

"Oh, I'm aware," she shrugged. "We should all stick to a firm moral compass, like you."

"_Hydra is_—"

She had no mood for this bullshit today, she had just had an amazing kiss that ended poorly, and had already listened to nonsense beliefs from Saint James.

"Oh, shut it," she said.

Pierce was smart, and read her tone. The two of them didn't get on, but she was still a valuable asset to Hydra and the rest of the world, he would gain nothing from pushing her buttons or being rude to her.

"_Did you tell him anything_?" Asked Pierce.

"Of course, I didn't," said Ida, her voice suddenly quiet. "That information comes at a very high price, one I don't think Rogers can afford, or anyone for that matter. I'm not a pause, Pierce, I know when to keep my mouth shut."

"_Good_," he said, "_that'll be all_."

And he ended the call.

"Prick," she muttered to herself sat down on the floor, cross-legged. "Christ, this is all so messed up."

She felt a small head bump her knee. She smiled at the cat and ran her fingers through her black fur as Circe curled up on her lap, purring contentedly now that she was fed. Ida wished she could share in the cat's happiness, but her heart felt so heavy, and it seemed like a weight was pressing down on her head. Something was gnawing at her guts, it might've been guilt, it might've been something else, it might've been both.

Either way, Ida Delgrave needed to get over the problem soon. She was a business woman first and foremost and, with all the issues with Renegades now sorted, she could finally throw herself back into work.

And forget about any stupid blonde boys with frisbee shields.


	10. PART TWO: Chapter 10

**A/N: Guess who just watched Knives Out? It was so good! Chris Evans (as usual) was amazing and if you want to see him playing a complete asshole, then go see it. Also, it was just amazing and the twists and plot was just so brilliant and surprising, with a really satisfying ending. Would one hundred and ten percent recommend to everyone!**

**This chapter was a lot of fun to write, and the Steve/Ida will they, won't they drama continues, as always. We've seen a bit of a time skip since the last chapter as the Winter Soldier storyline creeps closer, however unlike in past stories, Ida will play a very vague role in it at best. She'll appear, of course, but she won't be in EVERY scene, in fact she won't even be in a lot of it, she'll remain largely absent into the last third. She'll have her own role to play in the background and, as certain things come to light, it'll definitely put her and Steve on the line.**

**Zikashigaku: Ida is very good at pretending certain things didn't happen, and so is Steve, as we'll see in this chapter.**

**Hermione Romanoff: Thank you! Ida definitely sees Steve differently from how she sees other men, and she has no idea how to handle that. As we'll see in this chapter, she's a little bit of a wreck.**

_**Thanks to: zikashigaku, 19irene96, Lychee Tree, WinchesterDixonBros, Sojie204, Hermione Romanoff, marauders lover7, asarcasticunicornliveshere and AkariWolfPrincess for either leaving a review or following/favourting on the last chapter! Over 50 reviews? Oh my God, and we're only ten chapters in! I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying this story and I hope you keep reading :)**_

* * *

**PART** **TWO:** **FERRARI**

_Don't tell me about the rules and break them_

_And don't tell me about mistakes_

_And make the same ones I have made before_

_Don't say you love me more_

_Better not say it_

_I met her at church_

_But she could be satan_

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Gin and Tonic**

_March 25th, 2014_

_About Four Months since the 'Krasnoyarsk Incident'_

_The Triskelion, Washington DC_

"I didn't think I would have to remind a man like you of this, Mr Secretary" she said, "but I don't work for SHIELD, or the World Security Council, or for Hydra and especially not you. I trekked all the way up here because you promised me a deal, I expect a payment for whatever information you want me to give you."

"Yes, Miss Delgrave," said a rather annoyed Secretary Pierce, "I'm aware of how you run your business. However, we need the information first, then I can give you the money."

She laughed, "has SHIELD's money ran out?"

"Quite the opposite actually," he said, "as I'm sure your well aware. No, the information I need you to acquire is confidential and I can't be sure that you won't give it away to someone else unless you have the guarantee of payment."

She tutted, folding her arms.

She was standing across from Pierce, the two of them glaring over a wooden desk in his large office, located on the uttermost floor of the Triskelion. From here, the whole city was visible, even the Washington monument. Grey clouds were gathering, an inevitable rain hung in the sky, Ida frowned at the sight but focused on the matter at hand. Pierce, despite her dislike of him, was a major customer of hers. So when he called, she went. However, what he was asking of her now was too much.

"You understand me, I understand you," she said, "I get the money first, and then I get you the information. If anyone else wants that information, then they have to match your price and believe me, Mr Secretary, not many people can do that. However," she raised a hand, cutting him off before he could speak again. "I would be willing to change my rules a little."

She couldn't afford to lose him as a customer.

"How so?" He asked, rather grumpily. By God, he was a dreary man.

"A down payment," she said with a simple shrug.

"How much?"

"Half now," she said, "half when the job's done."

He shook his head, "I can't do half."

"Twenty-five percent then."

He contemplated it for a second, before sighing and giving a resolved nod, walking around the desk and offering his hand. Ida smirked and shook on it.

"It's a done deal, Mr Secretary," she said. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Director Fury, I believe, has been going behind my back as of recently," he said. "I believe he may be suspicious of some goings on, things that are _above _his pay grade, and is getting a little too interested in what's going on."

As far as Ida was aware, Fury wasn't a Hydra agent, unless he was really good at hiding it, but no one could hide from Ida for long. So, it made sense as to why Pierce was so unenthusiastic into Fury going behind his back, if Fury was catching on, then that could mean the end of Hydra's worming presence within SHIELD.

"I need you to find out how much he knows," said Pierce, "and how he's finding out about it. I need the information within ten days."

"The full dossier will be there by them," she nodded, giving him a stunning smile. "My down payment."

"I'll arrange it so someone will hand it over to your driver before you get downstairs."

"As always," she said, grabbing her coat, an almost-white, cream colour, "it's a pleasure doing business with you, Secretary Pierce. I'll make my own way out of the building, but I do hope to see you soon."

"I'm sure I will," he sat back down on his desk chair, shooting her a hooded look. "You've been hanging around the building a lot lately."

That was true. In the past, if someone wanted something from Ida, she would usually tell them to meet in her office or one of the few bars she owned in the city, and that was still the case for most customers. However, when a call came from SHIELD or Hydra or whoever, she was more than happy to make the, albeit brief, drive down to the Triskelion. And she was fully aware of the reasoning behind it, and she often cursed herself for being so unable to let go.

Yet, here she was.

"I just like the atmosphere," she told Pierce, who had no need to know of her personal problems. "Nice building. Besides, when I'm inside it, I can't see the ugly architecture."

"Are you done talking?"

"Nope," she shook her head, halfway out the door, "but I _am_ done talking to you."

She gave a brief nod to Rumlow as she walked past him in the corridors, who returned it with a flash of a smile, which she read as more of a smirk. She shot him a wink just as he went by, but rolled her eyes when he could no longer see her face. One problem with hanging around the Triskelion was the issue that she had just slept with too many people (as pompous as that sounded), Rumlow was one and she had no doubt that he wanted to go for another round. She, however, had no interest.

She stopped by the coffee machine on her way to the elevator and put in a dollar. She waited for the Americano with a sense of impatience, waiting for a text from Martin to inform her that she had received the down payment.

"Who'd have thought it," said a familiar voice, "the Woman of Whispers buying coffee from a machine. What has the world come to."

Ida tilted her head to the side, "desperate times, my friend, desperate times. Though, you don't seem to be doing too badly. Where on Earth do you get your hair done?"

Natasha Romanoff was looking better than ever, her hair completely straight, but still retaining a thick and glossy look as it perfectly framed her face. It was longer than it had been in the past, gently brushing her shoulders, yet Ida was well aware that long hair wasn't as impractical as other claimed when it came to fighting. And part of Natasha's job as a spy was to look good, who else was going to seduce the bad guy?

"Now, now," she said, "that's confidential. What are you doing here?"

"Meeting with Pierce," she gave a melodramatic sigh. "He's a difficult man."

"What was it about?"

"That's confidential," Ida spun Natasha's words against her, taking a sip of her coffee. "Jesus," she muttered to herself.

"That bad?" Natasha asked.

"Yes," Ida dumped it in a nearby trash can.

"There's a better one on the bottom floor," said Natasha, "you'll see it on your way down."

Ida spread her arms out wide, "and it's useful information like that, which is why I keep in contact with you."

"That, and I'm your only friend."

Ida laughed, "I have plenty of friends."

"The only friend you're not sleeping with."

"It's only a matter of time, my dear," she gave the redhead a smirk. "I'll see you around, Romanoff."

"You too, Delgrave."

She got in the glass elevator, giving Sitwell, who was also there along with a few other men, a brief greeting. She didn't bother maintaining a conversation though as they got off a few floors before hers. She watched the ground floor of the Triskelion get closer through the glass, leaning her head against it and sighing a little. This building was ugly and boring, and while she got along with some here, it wasn't worth the trek here that she made all the time.

The elevator dinged open and, suddenly, her mood improved.

"Ida," said Steve, surprised to see her, "you're in the elevator."

"And you're not," she said.

She pointed up and the elevator gave them a warning of, "door's closing."

Steve quickly stepped in as the door shut behind him, "what are you doing here? You look more annoyed than usual."

"Meeting with Pierce," said Ida. "And he's decided that today's the day to be more difficult than ever. It's interesting how a man can go from being the most difficult person you ever met, to even more difficult."

Steve pretended to be put off, "I thought I was the most difficult man you ever met?"

"Oh, you can be," she said, giving him a pat on the shoulder, "but compared to Pierce, you're a dream, Boy Scout. You look ready to face the day," she referenced his uniform. "Mission?"

"Nothing major," he shook his head but didn't elaborate. She didn't expect him to. "I assume you're heading out."

"After a brief stop at a coffee machine, yes."

"Ida Delgrave drinks machine coffee," he raised an eyebrow at that. "Now there's something you don't here all the time. Then I guess, I guess it's better than your alcoholism."

"I'm not an alcoholic."

"Just because it's wine and champagne, and not beer or whiskey, doesn't mean it's not alcohol."

"I do drink a lot of whiskey."

"Are you trying to deny or prove my point?"

"I like to keep you on your toes, Boy Scout," she said as the elevator doors opened for her. "I'll see you around."

He nodded, "we always find some way to bump into each other."

She smirked, "that's the idea."

She left him mulling over her words as the elevator doors closed and she headed on her way. She gave the coffee machine a brief glance before walking on past and down to the garage, where she had left Martin.

Truth be told, Ida got far more enjoyment from those brief, snippets of conversations with Steve Rogers than she ever had from her work. She had told herself to leave behind the strange feelings Steve had caused, especially after the Krasnoyarsk incident four months back. The two of them hadn't even spoken about the kiss, it took at least a month for them to even see each other again when Ida had become unable to fight herself, and turned up at Shield headquarters, claiming something about a meeting with the director.

And she had bumped into Steve 'accidentally' and they had talked and talked and Ida's mood had shot up instantly. The kiss never came up, yet there was no awkwardness. She liked to think that she was partly the cause of that. She had the incredible ability to talk her way around anything, and she had no desire to address what had happened that night between them. Thankfully, neither had Steve, and the two had talked about everything except that.

But it wasn't the same as it had been in Russia, Ida had forced herself to turn down the flirting, and there was a barrier between them, a sense of something not being quite right.

But it didn't matter, she supposed.

In the garage, Martin was waiting for her in front of the car, holding a suitcase.

"Down payment," he said.

"Good," she nodded, "it all in there?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Excellent, that's a job well done," she said as she stepped into the car and he got into the front seat. "Martin, I need to go stop off at the Red Velvet Bar."

"Of course, ma'am," he said.

* * *

Ten minutes later, she stepped out of the car and looked up, the rain hadn't quite begun yet and, if she was lucky, she could be in and out of the bar without getting caught in a downpour.

"You can be done for the day," she told Martin.

"Are you sure, ma'am?" He asked.

"Yes," she said, "my apartment's only a minute away. Just drop the briefcase there and head home."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ida watched the car pull away and checked her watch, six in the afternoon, not too early for a drink. The bar she was visiting was called the 'Red Velvet,' which honestly was a terrible name for a place in her opinion, it made it sound like some kind of sex den. It was rather high class compared to other pubs in the area, business men and women dined here, politicians making deals over champagne with oil barons. No one ever came here just to drink, not unless there was something to gain from it.

And Ida was one of them.

She arrived and gave a polite greeting to a few other customers she knew, but didn't stop to chat.

She got to the bar, "gin and tonic please. Put it on my tab."

The barman nodded and began getting to work, but not before saying, "he's in the booth at the back."

She gave a grateful nod and thanked him, took her drink and headed to the location he had mentioned. It was a small booth, meant to be for no more than two or three people, tucked away from view from the rest of the bar with a few, low hanging lights dangling over it. There was someone already sitting there, waiting for her, a man with dark skin and a rather ruffled suit on. He blinked and jumped up when he saw her approach, offering his head.

"Miss Delgrave," he greeted.

"Agent Mckenna," she shook his hand firmly with one hand and took a sip of her drink in her other hand. "It's been too long, take a seat. I understand that you've gotten what I needed."

He sat down, wringing his hands and nodded as she sat across from him.

"I… I do," he said.

While Pierce may think that he had the Woman of Whispers in her pocket by simply offering her money, she wasn't completely influenced by him, she had more than a few SHIELD and Hydra agents in her own pockets. Agent Mckenna was one of them, working for both Hydra and SHIELD as a mid-ranking agent, though he was hardly that enchanted by the Hydra ideology of causing chaos, he just got paid better for it.

"Well," she prompted, "go on then."

"They don't tell me much," he said, "but it's about Project Insight."

"Project Insight?" Said Ida, "I've heard of it, but I don't know what it involves."

"They're keeping that tightly under wraps," he said with a shrug, "I don't know much either. But it does involve three new helicarriers, far more technologically superior than the old ones, with some design input from Tony Stark himself. Their linked to satellite technology."

"Seems a little excessive," she said, "is America planning on going to war with anyone in the near future."

"Not quite, miss," he said and then hesitated. "I don't have a high enough clearance to know everything about it, but even the Agents above level eight seem to be in the dark. Including Fury, he knows of the project but, like everyone else, he doesn't know what it entails."

That would explain a lot about the job Pierce had left to her, to find out what Fury knew. Ida herself was curious as to what Fury knew, and this information was certainly (and pardon the pun) insightful.

"Can you find out if Fury knows anything more?" She asked, "or if he's getting suspicious."

He nodded, "I'll try my best."

"Thank you, Agent," she said.

He stood up, "I should really be heading off now… But I—" he suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh, by the way, there was a man in here, asking after you. The barman told him you weren't here and he left."

Ida frowned, "did you tell him that I would be here?"

"Though it better not to, miss, he didn't look like the most friendly type."

"Most of the men I deal with aren't," she sighed and took another sip of her drink. "Thank you, Agent Mckenna. I'll be in contact with you within a week. It's a pleasure doing business with you."

"Yes, miss," he nodded, "it is."

He left and she sat back for a little while longer to finish her drink, contemplating the information McKenna had just given her. This Project Insight thing certainly seemed like a growing interest in the past month, rumours and gossip surrounding it was growing louder. It seemed both Hydra and SHIELD were making it a priority and, therefore, it was a priority to her. It would certainly be expensive information, the market always benefitted when someone was planning someone secret and possibly evil.

She finished her drink while talking to a group of other businessmen who she was familiar with as clients in the past. Ida's sketchy history wasn't a bother for them, not when she had told them which were the best shares to invest in. Flirting with them was far easier than it was with certain other men, and they all seemed more than happy to reciprocate (despite their marriages and families), though Ida didn't push it too far. When it grew too late, she wished them goodnight and headed off.

Sighing, she stepped outside in the cold, pulling her coat over her shoulders. Rain thundered down, running down the roads and sidewalks as if it were a sewer system, drains were overflowing and Ida frowned. She dug into her coat and pulled out her umbrella, putting it up before beginning on her way back to her apartment, a couple blocks away.

It was still busy this time of night, but Ida paid the people around her little mind. Her mind was on an unopened bottle of wine, left chilled in the refrigerator and a pile of unopened emails on her laptop. However, before she could contemplate whether or not to actually bother doing work, she stopped suddenly.

"Hey, watch it!" Muttered a teenager who had just walked into her.

She ignored him and he elbowed past her. As he walked ahead, she was relatively alone on the fairly quiet street, but not completely. There were a few other people around her, and she needed to be more alone.

She quickly diverted to a smaller, cul-de-sac, slowing down a little to confirm her suspicion. Sure enough, she was right. She paused in the middle of the road, pretending to check her watch.

The man approached her slowly.

When he was a foot away, she suddenly pulled down the umbrella and twirled around, using it as a weapon to knock out the stranger's feet from underneath him. It worked, and she clicked her heels together to reveal the knives hidden in the toes, placing one boot by the side of his face to threaten him and pointing the tip of the umbrella to his neck.

"Ow," he groaned. "My head."

It took Ida a second, "Misha?"

"Yeah," he said, glaring up at her. "Could you not tell?"

"No, I've had a long day," she shrugged, "and you were silently skulking after me like a creep. Here."

She pulled her umbrella away from his throat and offered her hand, he took it and got back to his feet, brushing himself off. She put the umbrella back up over her head, but it was too late, her hair was already soaked.

"What are you doing in America?" She asked, "I haven't seen you since the Krasnoyarsk incident."

_When you betrayed me_, she thought, but that went unspoken. It didn't particularly bother her, she herself lacked loyalty, her and Misha were just two peas in a pod.

"I had business," he said, "in DC but then I remembered that you lived here and… Well… Delgrave, we need to talk."

Ida stared at him for a couple of seconds and then said.

"We could do it over drinks."

* * *

She didn't take him back to the same bar, but a different one that was practically a copy of the Red Velvet in every way except name. There was a certain kind of bar that tended to appear in cities. Expensive, lavish and filled with important people, and it had identical twins all down the street. When you were rich enough, it didn't really matter where you were drinking. Ida had only decided to take Misha to another bar as she didn't want to be seen reentering the same one for a second time, now that would be embarrassing, and she couldn't make her growing, alcoholism a public habit. Oh, how that would destroy her reputation.

They ordered drinks and took a seat away from the main section of the bar, where a rather timely tune was playing over the speakers.

"What are you doing in America?" She asked.

"I already told you," he said, "I had business with a couple men in DC. That, and I have a meeting in New York tomorrow afternoon but I figured while I was in the country I would talk to you."

"Why would you want to do that?"

He blinked, "you're not still mad at me for what happened, right?"

The Krasnoyarsk incident was four months ago, and Ida hadn't spoken to Misha since she had left his flat with Steve to make their getaway. He had betrayed her location to Ryok, a man who was hardly her biggest fan and who she had a bitter and violent past with. She hardly held it against Misha though, Ryok was rich and powerful, Ida probably would've done the same. Besides, he had also been the man to call in SHIELD to tell them what Ida and Steve were doing, granted SHIELD had come a minute too late as the two of them had already dealt with the Renegades at that point.

It seemed like so long ago now.

"I don't hold it against you, Misha," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Others have done worse things to me, and I still do business with them." She paused, looking up. "Is that why you're here? For work? To make a deal."

"Not really."

Her past with Misha told her that he wanted one thing only. If he didn't want money or more power, then there was only one more thing the two could stand to gain from each other, and it was the last thing Ida wanted to do right now.

"Oh, please, Misha," she said, "I'm a working woman, I've got better things to do."

"No, I don't just mean for one night," he said, "I mean… I mean… Delgrave, you're a wonderful woman."

"Hm," she nodded, "I'm aware. You're worming your way into my heart, Misha, especially with only using my surname."

"Ida, then," he corrected himself. "I just want to try again. You and I—" he paused as a waiter set their drinks down at their table. "You and I," he continued, "have always had something. Something deeper than I've had with other women… Something…"

"Yes, I know, Misha," she said, "I'm good at sex."

"No, not just that. Emotion."

She snorted and eyed him dubiously as she sipped her martini, "you think we had an emotional relationship, Misha? Let's say I entertain this crazy thought for a moment, if you did have any genuine feelings towards me, why would you betray me to Ryok?"

"I'll admit," he said, "that wasn't my best decision but—"

"But what, Misha?" She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "I don't _like _you. You're good in bed, I'll give you that, but so are a million other men."

"Like Captain America?"

It was a purposeful jab, though not one Misha expected to have much impact, what would he know about her and Steve anyway? But it did hurt, for some reason, it stung Ida and she visibly flinched back a little. Quickly, she regained herself and hoped the man hadn't seen.

"I wouldn't know," she said tersely, "and if that's all you wanted to say to me—" she stood up, "then I'll be taking my leave."

"Ida," he said and also got up, blocking her path. "Just give me another chance."

"No, Misha," she said, looking up at him with her dark eyes. "I'm not interested. Now get out of the way."

He frowned at her, "you could at least be more polite with it."

"I am being polite," she said, trying to stop herself from physically growling at him. "I'm telling you to move. You've seen me when I'm impolite and, if you're not careful, you'll be the one I'm roughing up this time."

And then Misha did something very stupid. He grabbed her by the wrist and attempted to _kiss _her.

She was far too annoyed to be dealing with men today, she decided. This wasn't the first time she had dealt with one who didn't understand the meaning of the word 'no,' though she had thought Misha would be a bit better than this at the very least.

She slammed her foot down on top of his and shoved his face away from hers with enough force to knock him onto his backside.

"I said no, Misha," her voice was devoid of any emotion. "Get out."

Sheepish and humiliated, he got back to his feet, dusting himself off. "This is a public place," he began.

She wasn't having any of it, "get out before I slit your throat, Ты сукин сын."

He took the insult, realising he was defeated, yet he couldn't help himself.

"Is it because you're sleeping with the American boy?" He hissed. "That's the rumour circulating, you know. The Bitch of Whispers and Captain America in bed together."

"For God's sake, Misha, get the message," she snapped. "Leave now before I punch you in your stupid, white teeth and break both of your legs. Don't doubt that I can't, because I will."

With a huff, straightening his shirt cuffs, he sharply turned on his heel and stormed off.

"And come up with a better insult than _bitch_," she called after him but he was already gone.

She sat back down in the booth seat, rubbing her forehead as she let out a frustrated sigh. While she lacked love or any feelings towards Misha, he was still a valued partner and customer of the business, and she had definitely lost him. Maybe she should've slept with him, despite his talk of relationship and _emotion_, that was all he really wanted. And maybe, Ida would've. But not tonight, not now. She said it herself, she had better things to do.

And by that, she certainly didn't mean Captain America. Yet the insult stung anyway. It was a reminder that, no matter how far she came, they still saw her as some kind of master, seductress whore who slept with every man. It was an even worst reminder that the only man she truly did have feelings with seemed so far out of reach. She didn't even know if it was feelings, or just the sense of guilt that he seemed to cause within her.

"Er, do you need anything else, ma'am?" Asked a waiter, who had obviously come over after hearing the fuss.

Ida looked to him and then to her drink, swiftly downing it.

"Another one of these, please."

* * *

It was late when Steve got back to his apartment. It was hardly a large space, he didn't need that much room, there was only one of him, after all. Still, it was bigger than his old place in Brooklyn, all those years ago, and a lot more expensive. A property in New York cost even more, though, and he worked for SHIELD now, so staying in DC was probably better. Living in Brooklyn would probably make him long for a past life too much, and it was important to leave that behind. Besides, he was closer to Peggy here. He still visited her as often as he could, though a part of him could sense her numbered days. It made him feel so young.

He set his shield down on the floor, turning on the floor light and sitting back on his couch, rubbing his forehead. He wasn't tired, it had only been a short job, he could've done it on his own, forget dragging the Strike team along. But there was something else on his mind, there always was nowadays.

Every once and awhile, when going into work, he would bump into a certain blonde. Usually, she was coming out of a meeting with Pierce or Fury or another high-level agent about 'top secret' information. Or, perhaps he needed information from her for a mission he was doing with the Strike team or Romanoff. Either way, there paths crossed fairly often. Sometimes, Steve couldn't help but feel like he was bumping into her on purpose.

Neither of them mentioned the kiss, and there was still that sense of tension between them. Luckily, though, Ida's general manner meant that no conversation was awkward, she was too much of a presence to allow things to be silent for too long. Steve was a straightforward man, he had been a soldier, after all, but his words failed him when it came to Ida, which certainly earned him a lot of smirks and remarks from Natasha, who was overly invested in his love life.

Not that Ida had anything to do with his love life, the Krasnoyarsk incident was months ago. Besides, Ida was too much of an enigma to ever be able to get close to. She always knew something he didn't, and there was always something about her that would remain a mystery to him. He wasn't sure if he liked that. Then again, she remained an intriguing mystery, he couldn't help but feel drawn to that enigmatic smile that would cross her features from time to time.

It was late, he shouldn't be dwelling on these things. He should get something to eat and get some sleep, he didn't have to work until the afternoon tomorrow anyway.

He got up and walked over to the fridge, browsing before getting distracted by his phone ringing. He took it out, holding it back from his face to get a proper look at it (this technology was still fairly new to him, Natasha said he handled it like he was an old man which, technically, he was). Naturally, he didn't recognise the number, mainly because he always forgot to save numbers and, also, most of the people who called him never really wanted to maintain regular contact. Co-workers.

Therefore, he didn't feel much suspicion when he picked up the phone.

"Hello?" He said, leaning over as he looked for something to eat.

"_Boy Scout_!" Chimed a familiar voice down the other end.

He suddenly stood up straight, "Ida?"

"_Who else would it be_?" She scoffed and he noted that her voice was slurring slightly. "_Anyway…_" she drawled, "_I just wanted to say that I was thinking, right, about that Saint James guy. Don't you think he looked like that dude from the Godfather_."

"Ida, what the hell are you talking about?"

"_You haven't seen the Godfather?" _She laughed and then paused, it sounded like she was drinking and putting a glass down. "_Wow, thought even a fossil like you would've caught by now. Anyway, I think he looked like the guy from it. Not the Godfather but his… his son. What was his name? He's really famous. It was…"_

"Are you drunk?" He asked, closing the fridge and leaning back against it.

"_Shush, I'm trying to…_ _Who played him? You know, the son."_

"Al Pacino?"

"_Yes! Yes, so you have seen it," _she was overly excited by this news. "_Anyway, I thought Saint James, you know, the Renegade, looked a bit like him. Don't you think_?"

"Ida, why did you call me?"

"_Being honest I don't really know_," she laughed, "_it was just on my mind. Don't you think it was weird that he named himself after a bunch of saints, like surely that's blashphemy?"_

Sensing she was about to go on another ramble, Steve intervened, "Where are you?"

"_A bar_."

"I gathered," he grabbed his jacket, "which one?"

She just giggled, "_wow, boy scout, you planning on joining me. I gotta say, it would be an honour to drink with the great, Captain America. I salute you,—"_

"What's the bar called?" He asked, locking his apartment behind him.

"_Uh… Red Velvet, no!" _She paused, "_no, that was before Misha. No, it's another one nearby, Golden something…"_

"I'll find it," he reassured her, "what did you say about Misha?"

"_Misha was here. You remember Misha? The guy who we saw in Krash— Kar—" _She fumbled with the pronunciation. "_Krasnoyarsk who betrayed me. Anyway, I saw him again and he totally tried to come onto me_."

Steve stopped halfway down the stairs, "he did?"

"_Yeah—yes," _she said, "_didn't even finish his drink properly and he just tried to make out with me. He doesn't know how to take 'no' for an answer, the prick."_

"You said no to him?" Steve checked, "and he kept trying?"

"_Oh, yeah, I had to threaten him to get him to leave,_" she laughed and then giggled and then hiccuped. "_Shithead. Ублюдок. Anyway, it doesn't matter, he's gone now so…" _She trailed off, loudly talking to someone else who was also at the bar, it sounded like she was ordering another drink. "_Anyway, Steve, it was nice talking to you. I mean, it's not because you're always so righteous, and that's like… Like the opposite of me but, like, who cares. I mean, you do, but who cares what you think? I mean, I do, but like…" _She hiccuped and lost her train of thought. "_Anyway, bye…"_

She hung up and Steve physically prevented himself from letting out a long sigh. Ida was very obviously, very drunk.

He was aware of what bar she was talking about, there were only a few bars with 'Golden' in the name within the vicinity, and it was within walking distance. In ten minutes, he was there, opening the door to see an interesting sight.

Ida was standing in the middle of a group of young men in ruffled suits, trying to teach them to do some kind of Irish jig. They all seemed to be equally as drunk as her, if not more so, and they were all as uncoordinated as each other. Every time someone fell over, one of them would shout some, incomprehensible drunk chant, which everyone else would copy and then do a shot.

"No, no," Ida said to someone, "you lift up a leg like this—" whatever dance she was trying to do failed as she fell back. Steve quickly grabbed her before she could hit the floor. She looked up at him, squinting and grinning. "It's Steve. Everyone, it's Steve!"

Had they been sober, the men might've recognised him, but they all seemed to be drunk and enchanted by the drunk Ida.

"Steve!" They all chanted, raising their drinks in the air.

"Steve," said Ida, grabbing his arm to support herself. "What— what are you doing here? In here? Here?"

"You called me."

"Oh, yes," she said, "lovely conversation. Chit-chat. That's me and you, banter all the way."

"Okay, Ida," he said, gripping her shoulder to steady her from falling back over as she tipped sideways. "You're going home now. I think you've had your fun for tonight."

"No, no," she shook her head before seemingly thinking about it. "No, yeah, actually. Home is fun." She then looked at him suspiciously. "How do you know where I live?"

"I know where your office is."

"I live there!" She shouted. "That's where I live!"

Her shouting alone was enough to cause the rest of the bar to cheer excitedly, though Steve doubted any of them really understood why. Ida cheered back and then tried to grab a shot off of one of the waiter's trays, which Steve quickly pulled her away from.

Her office wasn't far, the real struggle would be getting her to go home without stumbling into the road or into a group of people. She seemed more than happy to follow him out of the bar, waving frantically to the group of men on her way out while continuing to babble to Steve while they left. She was definitely a chatty drunk.

"How much did you have to drink?" He asked, keeping her upright as they walked down the street.

"Oh, at least three."

"Three what?"

"Yeah."

He sighed and pulled her out of the way as someone nearly walked straight into her. She was keeping a fairly lose grip on his arm, every once and awhile wandering off when she saw a street vendor, meaning Steve had to quickly stop her from stealing a hot dog or something. She also seemed to have a telepathic to sense other drunks, and would let out a loud cheer whenever she saw them, and they would cheer back just as loudly.

Eventually, they reached the apartment block and Ida clumsily let them in, stumbling towards the elevator and struggling to put in the key to the floor that was hers. Steve took it off of her trembling hands and did it for her. The elevator doors closed and they began heading up.

"How did that happen then?" He asked.

"What?" She asked, slumping against the wall, barely holding herself up.

He gestured to her, "this."

She laughed, "you know how to talk to a lady, boy scout. No, I was… I didn't mean to but then Misha was there and then he left, and he really annoyed me." Suddenly, she was angry. "I don't know what it is with you men, but you just can't— you don't listen. And he was going about _feelings _and _relationships_ and I know he doesn't care. He just wanted to sleep with me."

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Checked Steve.

"No, no," she was tracing her finger along the elevator wall. "He was just a Ублюдок, so I got annoyed and just… Just…" She shrugged, distracted.

"Ida," he said, "how much did you drink?"

"Lost count," she said, "my floor!"

The elevator doors slid open as she said it, and she stumbled on in, past her office to a wide, main living area.

It was definitely bigger than his own apartment, he thought. This room alone was about twice the size of his whole place, it was a very sleek kitchen combined with a modern living room, all kept to a minimalist style in terms of design. The first word that came to his mind was trendy, which made sense for Ida as she clapped her hands and the light came on. Windows spanned almost the entire side of the room, allowing for an expansive view of DC, not quite as good as the view from the Triskelion but it was nothing to be scoffed at.

He walked up to the window, peering out before nearly jumping out of skin when he felt something brush his leg. Glancing down, he saw a black shape, and he crouched down and offered a hand out. A rather, grumpy black cat was looking at him. After a moment of contemplation, it brushed against his hand and let out a loud 'meow.'

"That's Circe," said Ida, who was fumbling around the kitchen. "She just wants food, she doesn't really care for anyone who doesn't feed her."

"Are you going to feed her?" Asked Steve, standing up and raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah… Yes, just need to find… Ah hah!" She placed a bottle of expensive-looking Vodka on the counter.

"Oh, no, no," said Steve, walking over to her and snatching the bottle away. "No way, Ida, you're done for the night, you hear me?"

"You're such a spoil sport, boy scout," she pouted and tried to reach up for it. He held it over his head, finding some amusement in watching her jump up and down to try and grab it, but kept his expression suitably stern. "Come on, Steve, gimme."

"Ida, you're drunk."

"I'm aware," she said, "and I want to be more drink… I mean drunk. So please give me."

"No."

She folded her arms over her chest, and batted her eyelashes, "Please…"

"No," he glared at her.

She let out an annoyed huff, "fine, fine, whatever."

She walked over to a different cabinet, and Circe the cat quickly bolted over to her and followed Ida's every step until she poured some food into her bowl. Steve watched as the blonde sighed and stumbled over to a briefcase over on the counter. She clicked it open, and Steve caught a glimpse of stacks and stacks of bills, she nodded to herself and closed it, leaving it there.

"Why did you come get me?" She asked.

"Because you were drunk," he said, "and I figured that… Well, you weren't in the best place of mind."

"That is the understatement of the year," she laughed. It was still as musical as it was when it was sober. "Is that how you say it? Understat- understate? I guess it doesn't matter," she giggled.

"Did you always drink this much?" He asked.

"Oh, God yeah," she said, "it's a coping mechanism. It wasn't as bad before the Krasnoyarsk incident but these past few months…" she mimed and explosion and laughed again. "It's been rough."

He took in her appearance. He supposed she wasn't as pristine as usual. Her cheeks were rosy with alcohol, her hair stuck to her forehead, indicating she was sweating. Her clothes were ruffled, but not much. She was hardly 'dressed up.' Wearing an easy pair of blue jeans and low-cut, white top that looked expensive. Everything about her was expensive.

"Why?" He asked.

"Work and…" She stopped, "I don't know there's just this gnawing… Guilt inside of me. Just eating away, like a black hole." She shook her head. "I can't stop it, I deserve it."

She sat back down on a couch, sighing.

"Why are you feeling guilty?" He asked, sitting next to her but making sure to keep a palpable distance.

"I can't tell you," she said, "I can't tell anyone anything. My life is just secrets. The Woman of Whispers," she shook her head. "Guilt, guilt, guilt. It piles on, you just have to get rid of it, banish it, or just get used to it. But I can't, not after Emila, not after you."

_Emila_? He thought but didn't press her on it, as she continued her rambles.

"I wish you were easier, Steve," she confessed, leaning back on the couch, closing her eyes. "Like Misha, Misha is easy."

"Misha tried to make advances even when you said no," said Steve.

"But I can deal with that," she said, "you know what I can't deal with? A man coming and picking me up for whatever reason to take me back to my apartment just because I gave him a drunken call. Why bother? Why not stay home?"

"Because you were drunk," he gave her a dumbfounded look, "you weren't safe."

"And that's what makes you so difficult," she said, looking at him. "You see? Don't you remember what you said to me in Krasnoyarsk when I told you that I'd sell out Misha and probably you too?"

"I told you that you wouldn't sell out of me," said Steve, "not for a million dollars, not for ten."

"Do you still believe that?"

He nodded.

"Why would you say that?" She asked, "how would you know that? It's been on my mind since and I don't know _why_. I should just forget it, right? Forgetting it is easier, isn't it? Is that how you do it? Forget the past?"

"I can't forget the past," he said. "It wouldn't make anything easier."

She looked like she was on the verge of hysterics, whether that meant laughter or tears, Steve couldn't be sure. Whatever she was going to say, was interrupted by Circe suddenly jumping up on the couch. Ida looked at her and smiled, stroking the black cat between her ears.

"You said her name was Circe?" Said Steve. "From the Odyssey?"

Ida nodded, "obviously, you're an expert on Greek literature."

"We were taught it in school. Why'd you pick Circe?"

"It's difficult to find any memorable witches in history aside from the obvious," she said, "and Morgana was a little obvious, don't you think? Besides, she looks like a Circe, don't you think?"

"Well, if she transforms half of the SHIELD Strike team into pigs then let me know," he said, stroking the cat as she came over to investigate him.

Ida laughed, broken off by a yawn. "I always hated Greek Literature."

"Really?"

"Wasn't an avid reader," she paused, "my only hobby is alcoholism."

"That's not a hobby," he said, "it's a habit. You need to try and overcome that."

"Fat chance," she laughed and then looked at him, her dark eyes twinkling slightly. "You're a good man, Steve. What on Earth are you doing in my apartment?"

"Because I care about you."

"You care about the Woman of Whispers?"

"I care about _you_, Ida Delgrave," he said.

She laughed and then stopped, before laughing again, louder. It was like music to his ears, if he could bottle that sound and listen to it whenever he wanted, he would. And that scared him.

"You're an honest man too," she said, "and I've got a killer headache."

"It'll be worse in the morning," he pointed out.

"I'll call off my appointments," she murmured, settling into the couch a little more. "I can get away with sleeping into the afternoon, I'll just have to let Martin know, but he's quite intuitive anyway. I've only got a phone call with Mr Huang anyway, I can delay that. But I have to get that information for Pierce and…"

At some point, as she recalled her schedule aloud to Steve, she drifted off, leaning on her hand. Steve shook his head, looking at her softly before standing up. Circe followed him to the kitchen area and gave him a sharp meow, flicking her tail expectantly. Steve glanced up, but he was fairly certain Ida was passed out for the rest of the night, and wouldn't wake.

He gave Circe some water before filling up a seperate glass and leaving it on the counter. He then walked back over to the couch.

"Ida?" He prompted gently.

She didn't stir. In fact, she was snoring softly.

Rolling his eyes, he picked her up, she was as light as a feather to him, and carried her to her bedroom, settling her there. He then bought through the glass of water and left it by her bed for when she would inevitably wake up with a terrible headache.

He turned off the light as he left, pausing before he left the building, meeting eyes with a certain cat.

"It was nice meeting you, Circe," he said.

The black cat simply flicked her ears and began washing her ears.

He smiled and shut the apartment door behind him.

* * *

**A/N: Aw, now wasn't that sweet? Shame it's about to go downhill from here. Also! I've been thinking of making a playlist for this story, so if anyone has any song recommendations they think might suit this story then feel free to let me know! Also, for anyone who also reads Hidden in Plain Sight, I will be updating that soon, probably. Around the 15th or something of this month anyway, I just need to sort out a few things first and finish my exams first.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I had to move around a couple dates, the last chapter used to take place on March 20th but now takes place on March 25th, I hope this doesn't cause any confusion.**

**Sorry this update came so late, I'm useless! I just got so stuck and had to go back and rewrite the entire chapter. Just so you know, I started writing this chapter BEFORE Christmas and just didn't know what to do with myself. Anyway, updates on my life? Currently obsessed with BBC's Dracula, it was so good! Up until the last episode lol. But I really loved Claes Bang, he's an amazing actor. Also, I saw Jojo Rabbit in the cinema, it was great but I cried so much!**

**zikashigaku: Haha, I had to have Steve being polite to a cat, it's just the kind of guy he is although I do picture him as being more of a dog guy. Like a big, fluffy, golden Labrador! Ida's very good at talking a lot, so I figured it would get ten times worse when drunk, and she'd have even less of a filter. **

**AkariWolfPrincess: I'm glad you're invested in their relationship! It can only get worse from here ;)**

**Hermione Romanoff: Knives out is SO good, I've already seen it twice now. But honestly my celebrity crushes from that film is Ana de Armas, Daniel Craig and, obviously, Cevans 3. Thank you for the review, you're always so nice ;-;**

**spanieluver1973: That's a good question and I've put some thought to it. I think I read somewhere that it takes place between Civil War and Infinity War which I am NOWHERE near writing, so possibly depending on what the film's about or what it involves, I might. I can say at the very least, Ida will make a few cameos. Either way, it may mess up the canon of Ida's backstory? Because it'll show a little about Nat's life in the red room, so that might divert Ida's life there too. But I'm not really sure yet, so I guess we'll see when the film comes out. **

**Sojie204: I saw it! I'm so excited, I love u Natasha Romanoff 33**

**BeccaSco: Oh my, thank you so much that's so nice of you to say :,,)**

_**Thanks to: zikashigaku, AkariWolfPrincess, Hermione Romanoff, spanieluver1973, Maria Eduarda - Mary, , Sojie204, WinchesterDixonBros, dollinchains, BeccaSco, firstofhername, KeepCalmAndLoveKitKats, Rose Nieman-Black-Targaryen, All My Love. M, wolfvane14744, Genius892050, CaptainLoki, Likesreading and thaliahuntress9 for either leaving a review or following/favouriting on the last chapter. Honestly, love you guys so much, thank you for 100+ followers after only eleven chapters, and sorry for the late update! **_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Complicated Matters of the Heart**

_March 26th, 2014_

_Ida's Office_

The next morning (or was it afternoon now?), Ida was nursing a headache, concentrated at the front of her head. Appearance-wise, she had expertly crafted herself to look her usual-self to cover up her hangover, her face covered in just enough glitzy makeup and her hair in its usual, thick and wavy style. But her voice betrayed her, groggy and tired, her pupils no longer glittering in the depth of her dark eyes. Most people still wouldn't notice though, however sadly, she was sitting in a meeting with the one person who would notice.

Mei Haruna was a young, Japanese business woman with long, dark hair pinned back into a bun and a stern but pretty face. She was speaking about something, but Ida wasn't paying much attention. The woman was one of Ida's oldest business partners, and the one least likely to stab her in the back (literally and metaphorically) when doing a deal with her. She wasn't a _friend_ per say, but she was more than an acquaintance. And she was also very perceptive, so she noticed Ida's rather odd mood.

"Delgrave," she said, stirring the woman out of her thoughts. "You've been sitting there, nodding along to everything I say for the past five minutes. You're hungover and you're tired. What on Earth has gotten you like this?"

She looked at Mei and sighed. What a loaded question. She could tell her everything, she supposed. About Steve, Natasha, Emilia, Hydra, the Renegade, everything that had gotten her feeling so strange these days.

Instead, she gave an answer that wasn't exactly a lie, but wasn't the entire truth either.

"Haruna," she said, "how much do you know of Project Insight?"

Mei, of course, knew of Hydra. She had done deals with them in the past, in the same way Ida had. But, in her case, it was to expand her influence in Japan through more forceful manners, while she came to Ida to expand through information. Usually blackmail.

"Less than you, I imagine," she said, "it has nothing to do with me, why should I care?"

"That's the thing, I hardly know anything about it at all."

"That's a rare thing for the Woman of Whispers to say," Mei gave a rather dry laugh. "But I'm sure there's a lot of things you don't know. Why is this one bothering you?"

"Curiosity," she shrugged.

"It's more than that," she hadn't been giving Mei enough credit, as the woman inspected her closely. "It's really bothering you."

Ida sighed, "something about Project Insight unsettles me, Haruna. More so than what Hydra has done in the past. I'm used to being in the know, whether Hydra want me to or not, I always find out what they're planning. And I almost always know everything that's a deep buried secret. I know who really killed JFK, what's actually going on with Wakanda, what's in Area 51. I also know the world isn't run by the Illuminati, or Lizard people or a super-computer. It's run by money, that's what I've found in my life. Everything and everyone in this world revolves around making a profit, and so did Hydra for a period."

"You don't think Project Insight has a monetary gain?" Mei raised her eyebrows.

"No," she said, "no, perhaps it does. But it's not their main intention."

"Hydra's intention has always been power, control," said Mei, "whatever Insight is, it's linked to that."

"But what are they planning."

"I'm sure whatever they think it is," Mei paused to sip her tea. "They think it's for the good of humanity. But what _is _all this worry about, Delgrave? You're usually better than this. Don't tell me a man has gotten into your head."

"A man?" Scoffed Ida, with little conviction. "No, of course not."

Mei muttered something in Japanese, too quiet for Ida to catch but she could guess that it was something rather disapproving, as the woman shot her a stern look.

"I thought you were better than that, Delgrave," said Mei. "Men are idiots, you can't let them get to you."

Ida opened her mouth to deny, but then sighed and slumped against the desk. "I know," she hummed, tracing the indents of the desk with her fingers, "things just… Got complicated quickly and then suddenly stopped."

"This is why I only sleep with women."

"I haven't even slept with him."

This seemed to peak Mei's interests, "you haven't? Yet he seems to have quite an effect on the great Woman of Whispers. What kind of scumbag did you find this time, it can't be any worse than Misha."

"He's not a scumbag though, that's the thing. He's a good man."

"Ah," she frowned, "I can't help you there, Delgrave. A good man is the epitome of scumbag. Especially to women like us." Ida glanced up, confused. She elaborated, "if he truly is a good man, Delgrave, then what interest is he going to express in a woman like you? No offence, I like you well enough, but your far from a decent person."

Ida knew that, she had said it herself many times, but coming from someone else, it was an icy stab to her heart.

"Yes, you're right," she nodded, forcing a smile to spread across her features. "It's not even that big of a deal anyway. Now, what were you saying about Yokohama?"

Mei's lips pursed, not quite convinced by the woman. Yet, she didn't say anything else. Or, at least anything that wasn't business. But Ida's mind was still wondering. What to do about Hydra. About SHIELD. About Steve. She had never bothered thinking about these things before, she had lived life as an observer, passing information on from one person to another, with little care for the consequences of what her actions would entail. She had never thought she could be a good person, she had only decided to warn Steve about the Renegades as she had technically been paid for it, and the lives of a million people were at risk. Then again, she had probably indirectly killed more than that.

But she didn't feel guilt before, why did she now?

That was a dumb question, she though, she knew exactly why she felt guilty.

An idea came to mind.

"Harris Blumer," she said suddenly.

Mei looked up, "what?"

"Blumer," she repeated. "You've heard of him, obviously, you're partnered with him."

"Yes," Mei narrowed her eyes "he's helping me with the Yokohama operation."

"I got word the other day that he plans to destroy your company," she said, "from the inside out. I've got a good number, a trustworthy hitman I can get you in contact with to take him out."

"Do you want me to pay you for this?"

"Don't bother," Ida was already on her feet, grabbing her usual coat from where she had hung it up and began putting it on. "It's like a freebie."

Mei looked skeptically, "you're in a rush to get somewhere."

"I am," she said, wicked smile crossing her features. "Haruna, I wish you look. Martin will show you the way out."

* * *

"Steve," said Natasha, approaching where he was sitting. "You– We don't have a job today, what are you doing?"

He had been sitting in the SHIELD cantons, one a seat by the window, mindlessly spinning the lid of a cup of coffee in his hand, staring into space. He looked up at the red head, blinking as though broken from a trance, when he heard his name.

"I guess I just felt the need to come in today," he said without much convention.

She laughed, "no life outside of superheroing?"

He shrugged.

She sighed and sat down on the chair across from him. "That makes two of us," she joked with a small smile. But she could clearly sense something was wrong. "What's up?"

"Hm?"

"You're staring into space," she said, "and you have been for a good few minutes." Her eyes then narrowed. "Did something happen last night?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Not many things bother you, Rogers," she said. "It was just a guess. So, did something happen last night?"

"You could say that."

His vagueness made her eyes widen and eyebrows shoot up, "you didn't–"

"Oh, God," he said, "no, nothing like that. It's just… It's just nothing."

"Obviously it's something," she said and leant forward slightly when he stayed silent. "Listen, Steve, there are two things that get under your skin: Tony Stark and injustice. So, what is it?"

"No offence, Romanoff," said Steve, tired smile creeping over his features. "But you're being rather nosy."

She continued to look at him.

"Fine," he gave in. "I got a phone call… From a friend. She was drunk and I just made sure she got home safe, that's all."

"A friend? What friend?" Natasha paused, "and you said _she_."

Steve sighed, "yes, I said she. Don't give me that look, Romanoff, I've already put up with you trying to get me to date every single woman in this building so far."

"You seem to be doing my job for you."

"It's not like that."

"Then why was it was bothering you so much?"

He opened his mouth, trying to think of anything to use to combat that but didn't. He knew better than to tell Natasha of all people that it was Ida on his mind. Part of him was worried for her and, to put it nicely, her drinking problem. And the other part of him… Well, he couldn't work that out. But he figured it was the same thing that caused him to kiss Ida that night in Krasnoyarsk, all those months ago now. Neither of them had talked about it since that day. Should they have? Probably. But he hadn't found it within herself to be able to, and neither had she apparently.

And Natasha had been suspicious. Amongst her general match-maker attitude she had gained in their time spent working together in order to, how she put it, "get him a life," Ida has come up more than once. Natasha had no idea what had happened that night, Steve didn't want her to know. But she teased, just as she teased him about practically everything.

But it always stung more when it was Ida and he didn't know why. But, for that same, strange reason, he couldn't get last night off his mind.

"It's nothing," he said again. "Really, Romanoff. Besides, if we don't have a job today, then why are you in?"

"While you might not have a job," she said, "I do. Sadly, it's classified, before you ask."

"Well, I'll let you get to it," he stood up, he had no interest in continuing being examined by Natasha. "I have something to do anyway." He didn't, but he kept it vague enough that Natasha didn't realise.

Natasha seemed to realise that he didn't want to converse anyway and stood up as well.

"I'll contact you when are next mission comes through," she said.

He nodded, looking like he wanted to say something, before shaking his head.

He headed back down towards the garage. There hadn't been much point in coming in, but it was a welcome break from the silence of his apartment. He supposed, to some extent, Tony had a point when he told him to get a life. But Steve had just grown so used to being a soldier, that being anything outside of that seemed strange. The modern world was strange. Despite the horrors of World War Two, at least it had the advantage of being more black and white than the world now. A clear enemy: the Nazis. Following orders without question made sense. But who was the enemy now? Some said the Russians, the government would always be pointing a finger at some general in some Middle Eastern countries while the population would turn and accuse the government themselves of being the enemies. Now, following orders wasn't the same.

But outside of following orders, outside of saving the world, Steve had nothing. His world died the moment he entered the ice. Sure, he still had Peggy. But Peggy had moved on, had a life of her own, got married, had children. And she was old, she had watched all this modernisation happen in front of her eyes.

Steve, as lame as it sounded, didn't really have many friends. He went home to a silent apartment and tried to catch up on the world he had missed.

Except, he didn't do that last night.

"You look forlorn, boy scout," said a voice, with a slight Russian lilt.

He had just entered the garage, where he left his bike, only to find he wasn't the only one there. Ida was leaning against a sleek, black car, her face in a relaxed smile, arms folded over her chest. She looked as beautiful as she normally did, hair falling in perfect waves, a layer of make-up on her face, but carefully crafted to look natural, aside from the golden eyeshadow. She wore her usual, pale, long coat, tightly buttoned up. The only sign of any sort of hangover was that her skin was slightly paler than normal.

When he didn't respond for a few seconds, she said, "forlorn? That is the right word, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said.

"Well, what has you so down, Captain?"

"It's my general approach to life," he shrugged, "what are you doing here? Do you have a meeting with Pierce?"

She took a breath in, "not exactly. I actually wanted to see if I could catch you."

"Oh, why?"

"I just don't think I thanked you properly last night," she cleared her throat and shifted. Steve noted her discomfort.

"Any proper gentlemen would've done it."

"I'm afraid there aren't many of those left," she straightened upright, "you're a rarity, Steve Rogers."

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. I have a killer headache, my shoulders hurt and you're currently slightly blurry, as my eyesight seems to have decided to take the day off."

After thinking about it, he took a step closer, "better?"

She chuckled slightly, "much better."

"Ida," he sighed, "I think we need to talk."

Her shoulders sagged, it what looked like could be relief, "yes," she said, "I think we do."

"When we kissed that night," he said. She almost flinched at the mention of it, hearing it for the first time was strange. They had been so quiet about it, sometimes she thought it only taken place in her head. "In Krasnoyarsk. How drunk were you?"

For a moment, she looked at him in disbelief, before her dark eyes narrowed into what could only be described as a glower. "I had a bit of wine, Rogers, I was still fully in control of myself, if not a little tipsy. While I'm a little chatty when drunk, I'm my own person. I don't make mistakes when I'm drunk that I wouldn't make when sober."

He didn't flinch at her tone, but knew he had offended her by implying she was drunk.

"So was it a mistake?"

She instantly softened, gaze becoming clouded with uncertainty. "No… Maybe…" She shrugged, "I don't know. But I don't think it was. It didn't feel like a mistake at the time, and it still doesn't now."

"I don't think it was a mistake either," he confessed but a frown stayed on his face. "But then why did you leave?"

"Steve, look at me," she gestured to herself. "I'm the Woman of Whispers. I sell information to the bad guys and the good guys and those morally grey guys without discrimination. Indirectly, I've killed thousands, maybe millions. And you," she laughed. "Your Steve Rogers, Captain America, Hitler-punching legend. You make me feel guilty."

"I don't–"

"Don't try and say anything," she said. "We're polar opposites, Boy Scout. You should hate me and maybe I should hate you too. Yet, for some strange reason, that's not happening."

"Do you want me to hate you?" He stepped forward, standing barely a foot away from her.

"Of course not," she said. "And I don't want to hate you either. I don't really know what I want."

"Me neither."

He gripped her hand, neither of them were really sure why. He lifted their hands to eye level and Ida observed it for a moment. She was by no means short or small, but his hand was so much bigger than hers, as his fingers curled around hers. She sighed, and rested her head against their joint hands, forehead against his knuckles.

"What do we do then?" She asked.

There was a pause, "I'm not sure."

"Do you want…" She swallowed, "do you want lunch?"

"Bit late for lunch."

"Well, do you want a late lunch?" She asked.

After a pause, he smiled. "That sounds good."

* * *

"You're joking," she laughed, "I cannot picture you throwing up."

"It's true," he said, with a laugh. "It was a pathetic sight, I was sick all over Bucky's shoes. Everyone was staring, but Buck thought it was hilarious."

"You really don't look like the kind of guy to be sick ever," she peered at him, eyes glittering.

"I told you, I was skinny and short back then."

"I can't picture it. I think part of me is convinced you Americans made that bit up."

"Well," he laughed, "it's true."

The two of them had just had their late lunch. Ida had tried to drag him somewhere fancy, but Steve was having none of it, saying that they should eat somewhere more lowkey. That had caused her to pull a face, what did lowkey even mean? But it had been a nice meal, the food was decent and the conversation made it feel like they were back in Krasnoyarsk all over again. Now, they were leaving, and just wandering around the street. It was still quiet this time of day, most people still at work.

"So, the serum made you bigger, right?" She said, "like taller and buffer, without exercising."

"Yes," he narrowed his eyes, waiting to see where you were going.

She smirked at him, eyebrows raised, "did it make anything else bigger?"

It took him a moment, and then he rolled his eyes. "Don't be gross, Ida."

"What? It's just a question," she said, "did your dick get bigger?"

He paused.

"It might've."

"Ha," she laughed, melodic, beautiful. "I knew it. I know a few men who could do with that serum of yours. Pierce, for starters."

"You haven't—"

"Oh, God, no," she shook her head. "Of course not, I do have _some _standards. Not many, but some. He just gives off the impression of being a man with a very small penis."

Steve wasn't sure how much longer he could comfortable with this conversation, "I haven't actually ever really the man. Not officially."

"You don't want to," she huffed. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he said. "Only if I can ask you as well."

She considered it for a second, before smirking. "Deal then. But I go first."

"Go ahead."

What was it like?" Her voice was slightly more softer now, serious but it still held the usual, slightly playful tone that it always did. "When you woke up from the ice? Because, a part of me is trying to picture what it would be like but I guess I don't get it. Was it easy to… to let go?"

He frowned, thinking for a second before answering. "It was difficult, but I guess a part of me had already let go when I forced the plane to go down," he said honestly. "I had already lost my best friend, I never knew my father and my mother had passed years before. I did have the Howling Commandos, but the hardest thing was… Peggy."

"Peggy Carter?"

He nodded. "When I went down, she was on call," he said. "I think I loved her, she was an amazing woman. Even after the serum, she could still probably beat me up with ease. I spoke to her when I went down and… And I guess I let her go then. I knew I was going to die, or _thought _I was going to die. I didn't want her to mourn forever."

"Huh."

"And she didn't," he went on, "she's still alive but she moved on in a way that I don't think I ever could. She got married, had kids, made a family and a name for herself. When I found out she was still alive, I was so proud of her. Even if now, she's old and sick."

"Sick?"

"She forgets a lot," he confessed and Ida could see the hurt in his eyes. "Alzheimer's, they had it back in my day."

She gripped his hand, "that must be hard."

"It is," he said, "but she lived a good life. And even if she forgets from time to time… She's still my Peggy."

Ida looked at him in a way that reminded him how _dark _her eyes were. Their depths seemed endless, mysterious, and sharpened her features. They were almost impossible to read. _Almost_, as Steve could see her softness and sympathy. Yet, they were still quite intense, but Ida was an intense person, so it suited her. Everything about her just fit, and Steve was aware that she had the ability to consciously craft herself to be a certain kind of person, depending on who was paying her. But, with him, everything about her being was so natural and smooth.

"She sounds like an amazing woman," she said.

"She is," he agreed.

"What were you going to ask me?" She said after a few seconds.

"Last night," he said, "you mentioned a name."

She gave him a blank look, "I really don't remember _that _much about last night."

"You mentioned someone called Emilia."

She suddenly stopped, doing a double take and taking a sharp intake of breath as she looked at him. He noted the way her grip on his hand tightened, and he gripped tighter in reassurance, in what seemed like reassurance.

"I… Uh…" It was one of those rare moments when Ida Delgrave felt uncertain. "Emilia, she was… Do you remember when I told you that I escaped the Red Room when I was fifteen?"

"Yes."

"I wasn't alone," she confessed. "There was a girl, she was only eight. She was part of a younger group of girls and Natasha and I had noticed her for a while. She didn't quite have the skill to keep up, she was slower and more nervous. I felt sorry for her, I taught her myself, tried to get her to learn. But it wasn't enough, she failed one of her exams and Madame B said something. I can never remember specifically what, but it terrified me."

"What did you do?"

"I thought they would kill Emilia," she confessed, "and she was just a little girl, and she was scared. So, in the dead of night, I found her and we got out. It wasn't even that difficult, but I supposed Madame B thought we were all so brainwashed that we would never bother trying to leave."

"You protected her," his tone was surprised. "That was brave of you, you left all you knew behind to protect her."

"It wasn't enough though," Ida thought she might cry, there was a reason she didn't talk about Emilia. "She was only a little girl, I tried to protect her but… But it wasn't enough. Two years later, she died. That was when the KGB caught up to me and Natasha had me cornered. I was such a wreck emotionally that Natasha pitied me. I think she was angry at me first, for leaving her. But by the time our paths crossed again, I was in such a horrible place that I don't think she had it within herself."

Steve wanted to ask Ida how Emila died, but got a feeling that she wouldn't be too keen on answering that. The subject was hard enough in itself, it seemed to cause her to withdraw within herself.

He squeezed her hand, "but you lived. You're still here."

"I shouldn't be," she said, "I'm a terrible person, Steve, Emilia was just a girl. It should've been me, not her."

He stopped in the middle of the street and cupped her face with his hands, racing her face a little.

"I'm glad you're here," he said.

"The only reason I can stand here is because of my information," she said, "information which has killed people."

"I don't care," his voice was abrupt. "I don't care if your the Woman of Whispers, or the White Shadow, or what secrets you have. I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're here, Ida Delgrave."

She pretty much collapsed into him, in an embrace that was sorely needed. She rested her head on his chest as he pulled her tightly against him.

"One day," she promised, "one day you'll care. One day you'll hate me."

"I won't hate you, Ida."

_You should_, she thought but couldn't say it

He walked her back to her apartment. Ida was clever enough to steer the conversation back to the light-hearted, easy banter it had been before, which wasn't too difficult. But they were closer to know, her arm looped through his. Shoulders practically touching.

For a moment, she had considered inviting him inside when he arrived. But she had a feeling that might be taking it too far.

"We should do this again sometime," he said.

A smile flitted over her face, "we should."

He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips with a parting kiss, the coyness in his eyes rivalling hers.

"Ida," he said.

She wouldn't let him one-up her like that, and stood on her tiptoes to plant a brief kiss on her cheek.

"Boy Scout," she said.

He smiled, "I'll see you soon."

Her heart fluttered when she replied, "yeah, I'll see you soon."

When she entered her apartment, she couldn't out but let out a long, heavy sigh, full of a strange sense of longing, but also giddiness. Part of her wondered if this is what if felt like to be a schoolgirl, because she definitely feeling like a child right now. It was all rather pathetic, but at the same time, she couldn't help but feel that way.

She clapped her hands together to turn on her lights and pretty much fell against her couch, having only bothered to unbutton her coat rather than take it off. She felt movement and glanced to the side to see Circe had also bounced onto the couch, and was giving her a rather curious look through beady, yellow eyes.

"Oh, Circe," she sighed, "I think I've made a mistake."

She flicked an ear.

"You can't blame me though," she said, "it is Captain America."

A meow.

"I know that's the exact reason why I should've stayed away but…" She lifted her hand to the air, inspecting her nails. "But I don't think I can stay away now. It's far too late for that."

Another meow, followed by a rather indignant look.

"Yeah, I know he'll find out," her tone was a little quieter, and Circe brushed her face against the hand Ida outstretched for her. "But I can enjoy this for now. Can't I?"

* * *

_April 1st, 2014_

_2:30am_

The next five days went like any other for Ida. Most of it was spent working, doing meetings, gaining the relevant information from sources and giving it to the people who would pay for it. She didn't go to the SHIELD building in hopes to come across Steve, she had no need to when she still needed time to gain the information that Pierce wanted, which was taking more time than expected. A part of her wanted the excuse to call him or text him, but a different part of her held her back, reminded her of who _she _was and who _he _was.

_But he said he didn't care._

But he would. He said he wouldn't, but he would. And that stung. Ida supposed she should just get used to it.

However, she did have her sources within SHIELD, within Hydra, and she was fully aware of a situation or mission that had just finished. A hostage situation aboard the Lemurian Star, in which there was an agent on board (who worked for both sides of the coin), Jasper Sitwell. Truthfully, Ida hadn't put much thought into it, the only reason she was aware of it was because Steve had been the one to infiltrate it.

She was staying up late doing research into a different client, when she had gotten a text. It was brief, and from an unknown number (likely a burner phone), but a signature told her who it was from.

_For your interest⁓_

_Agent M_

Agent Mckenna worked for SHIELD and Hydra, but got a lot of his money through leaking information to her. She paid him well, just she paid all of her ears well. She had to hear her whispers from somewhere, after all. She had asked him to do some digging into what Fury was up to, and he had provided with a link.

It was a link to a document of communications between two people. F and B, but Ida knew that was just a simplified version of someone's name. Fury and, who was the other one?

After a quick glance through, she felt her heart thud in her chest. When Pierce had thought Fury had been up to something, he had been completely correct. Fury, a spy, was committed espionage of some kind. He had commissioned B, whoever that was, to hijack a ship called LS. the Lemurian Star.

She flicked back to another document open on her laptop which told her the name of the notorious assassin who had hijacked the ship. _Batroc_, B.

"Oh, Fury," muttered Ida under her breath.

It was clear now. Fury had purposefully hired Batroc in order to gain access to the ship and the information stored on it. He was aware that Pierce was keeping something from him, and that Sitwell was in on it too. Ida had no doubt it had something to do with Project Insight.

Now, this would be something Pierce would be interested in. she would get her payment from this.

She texted a thanks to Mckenna, though he had likely already thrown his phone away, and quickly called up someone else.

"It's late," said Pierce, "what do you want?"

"Secretary," she said, "I think I've found _exactly _what you want."

* * *

**A/N: And, thus, the Winter Soldier begins. Ida will be doing her own thing, which is mainly feeling guilty about things, for the first half or so before she pulls herself together. I don't plan on having her be in the entire film, which is what I usually pull for Adara whenever I write her. Ida is not an Avenger and is far more disconnected from the good guys. But, her relationship with Steve is definitely moving forward. It's a shame it's only going downhill from here.**

**I hope you liked this chapter, sorry it's so late! Reviews are appreciated, love you all xx**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry this update took me like a month+, I've just been so focused on getting Hidden in Plain Sight done as well as school and such that I've been a little distracted from this story. But don't worry, Ida and Steve's story isn't over, we're just getting to the good part! Once again, this story isn't a priority when compared to Hidden in Plain Sight, but considering that is **_**so **_**close to being done (after over a hundred chapters) I don't think we'll have to worry about that much longer. A-Levels are also kicking my ass, but I really need to stop making excuses. In short, don't expect regular updates on this, but also don't give up hope!**

**In other news, I've spent a while editing together a trailer for Hidden in Plain Sight. It's a little bit shit and I'm not sure if I'll upload it (it'll probably get taken down for copyright) but if anyone is interested I totally will. And I might even make one for this story? But don't hold me to that haha.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Trustworthy**

_April 1st, 2014_

_12:30pm_

It was a windy afternoon in Washington, observed Ida from inside the cafe she was sitting in, a small espresso sittin on the table in front of her which she drank small sips from. While it was certainly hardly pleasant weather, the day was still bright enough so she didn't turn too many heads with the pair of sunglasses she had propped on her head. Originally, they were going to be some kind of disguise, but Ida didn't really like disguises. She liked looking good. Despite not getting any sleep, her face was done up with makeup, her eyelashes thick, her hair in neat waves and a pair of pearl earrings dangling from her ears. Even her clothes, which were casual for her, were hardly something to blend in with. She wore a fitted, white, designer dress shirt and high-waisted black trousers. Her usual, stone coat was hung back around the chair she sat on, as she rested her head on her chin and watched the world outside.

Her eyes were not on the traffic going past, and the busy life of the city itself, but the bank across the road. The Ideal Federal Savings Bank. It was nothing special on the surface, Washington was the capital city afterall, it was covered in banks and other important, recognisable locations. However, Ida was aware that this bank was often used to house Hydra soldiers. Not a big deal, this was old news.

The only reason she had any curiosity about it was because an insider had let it slip that they were housing an _asset _there. Ida could put some good money (and she had a lot of money) on exactly _who _that asset was.

She took a sip of her coffee and contemplated her next move. It wasn't quite strong enough, she would make herself a martini when she got home in a few hours.

Last night, she had told Pierce what he had wanted to know about Fury. Last night, Ida had got paid. Last night, Ida feared she may have signed the death warrant of Nicholas J. Fury.

But why bring in the Winter Soldier? It seemed like an overreaction on Hydra's behalf. Fury was one man. He was tough, but bringing one of the notable assassins of the _century _in seemed like an overreaction. Unless there was something else, something Ida was overlooking, or at least remained fuzzy on. It would make sense on why they were bringing in extra Hydra muscle over to DC.

Project Insight was moving forward.

Another sip of coffee. Ida pondered what little she knew of the matter, it was something Hydra was completely determined to leave her, and many others, in the dark on. Even Fury knew nothing, he had tried to learn something but how would that end for him? She thought about the Winter Soldier and she felt grim. _Not well _was the answer to that question.

But Fury wasn't stupid or defenseless. Ida had a feeling he already knew there was something wrong within Hydra, or at least knew someone was onto him. The man had faced worse threats than Hydra. But worse threats than the Winter Soldier? That was debatable.

Sighing, Ida picked up her phone.

After three rings, they picked up.

"Agent McKenna?" She said.

"Yes?" Came the agent's voice.

"I need you to track Fury," she said, "just for the day. If anything happens, let me know."

McKenna snorted, "the Director will know if—"

"He won't know today," said Ida, "I'm sure his mind is on other things. If he leaves the SHIELD building, just let me know. I want to stay updated, call me curious."

McKenna cared little for reasons, which was why Ida liked him so much (and why he got paid the big bucks for being a rat within Hydra _and _SHIELD). He simply gave her an affirmative "sure" and hung up, leaving Ida alone with her thoughts once again.

She finished up her coffee, left a tip on the table and left. Putting her coat on her as she left, she almost didn't see the man until she had pretty much walked into him. She managed to stop herself and glanced at him.

"Rumlow," she said, feigning surprise, "whatever are you doing here?"

Agent Rumlow was just about the same height as her, he was lucky he hadn't caught her in her heeled boots. He didn't look surprised to see her, though he did look like he had been about to cross the road to enter the bank.

"Delgrave," he greeted, eying her up, "are you spying on us?"

"I just heard some interesting news," there was no use in hiding the fact that she had been watching the bank. Rumlow was quite thick, but he wasn't completely stupid. "It looks like we're in for an exciting few days."

"Indeed," he agreed. "Where were you off to in such a hurry?"

"Oh, you know," she glanced at her watch. "A few meetings here and there. The usual routine. I assume _you're _clocking in."

"You could call it that. We have a busy afternoon," he paused, "though I am free this evening."

Ida's lips quirked up in a bemused smirk as she looked at him. The man was hardly subtle. She had never had a relationship with Rumlow, she did have some standards when it came to men and he was far too much of a fanatic for her. Granted, she had slept with him once and he was okay, she had had better that was for sure. But the man was also rather conceited, and had likely convinced himself that he had the biggest dick around. Ida was completely certain that while _yes _he was a big dick, he didn't have one.

However, she didn't underestimate how useful he was to her and gave him a slight pat on the shoulder, purposely letting her hand linger longer than necessary.

"Perhaps another night," she said, "my calendar's a little stacked."

He didn't seemed offended, if anything he seemed to like the implication that she may be free in the future. Truth be told though, Ida hadn't done as much sleeping around as she had done in the past. She knew why that was, and it would feel… Wrong if she slept with someone else.

"I'll see you around, Rumlow," she said.

"Until next time, Miss Delgrave."

They went their separate ways and Ida checked her watch again. She hadn't been lying, she did have a meeting to get to, granted she felt too tense to focus on anything.

The wind whipped her hair in front of her face, and she brushed it behind her ears, glancing up to the sky, which was growing cloudier and grey. With a sigh, she realised with a heavy heart that a storm was brewing. And part of it was her fault.

* * *

_A few hours later_

_17:00pm_

Dusk had begun, the sky was bloody red and Ida had taken a few meetings with a couple contacts and a couple customers and was now using the evening to take a walk around the city. She checked her phone, but there were no texts from Agent McKenna. She checked her other phone (which she had just in case) no texts there either.

However, she did have a voicemail from a certain someone.

"_Hey, Ida,_" said Steve, he sounded rather tired and annoyed, granted she didn't think it was directed at her. For once. "_I was just wondering when you're next free for a coffee or something. I don't know about you but I could really do with a break and Romanoff keeps bugging me about getting a social life or something. Anyway, I figure you're in a meeting selling off the secrets of the state or something so just call me back when you can. Okay, which button is it to end the call again? Is it— no that's volume. Oh, it's this one—"_

Ida smiled at the sound of his voice and put her phone back in her pocket, deciding to reply when she heard back from McKenna.

Whatever happened next would alter her and the Captain's relationship almost permanently. While she had grown to enjoy this on-off thing the two of them had developed, she knew it couldn't last. Project Insight, whatever it was, would change everything. It would reveal… Certain things. Steve already didn't like what she did, but he seemed to like her enough to look past it. But, of course, he didn't know everything.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her situation was so complicated and Steve was so…

She was leading him on. Not in the same way she would with other men, tricking them in thinking she was interested in order to get information. No, she _was _interested in Steve and she didn't want information from him. And, while she wasn't lying to him, she wasn't telling an important truth.

"Since when did my job get so complicated," she muttered to herself.

But her job had always been complicated. Morally, it was always grey. A very dark shade of grey. But it was only now that she began to know what it felt like.

"_I was just wondering when you're next free for a coffee," _was his simple request in a gentle tone.

"_I don't think you'll see me out, not for a million dollars, not for ten million," _had been the other thing he had said.

And she would never sell him out. Not directly. But, couldn't it be argued that her secrets were the equivalent of selling him out? Or worse?

_Fuck you, Steve Rogers, _she thought to herself, _for making everything so complicated._

Her phone suddenly buzzed and she didn't even need to see the contact name to know who was calling and she picked up before it could even finish its first ring.

"What's happened?" She asked.

Five minutes later, she found herself on one of the main streets in the centre of the street. Neither of the cops on watch batted an eye as she shoved her way through the crowd and ducked through the police tape, one of them even gave her a sharp nod in greeting which she returned with a brief nod of her own.

Her boots clicked against the tarmac as she approached the area where the police chief was, a man who knew her well. Of course, everyone in a high enough postion knew the Woman of Whispers. The police chief was a man she had sold information to before, as well as gotten key information off of.

He greeted her, which she returned and stood beside him.

"So?" She glanced at the overturned, black SUV. "What's the details?"

The police chief didn't quite know as much as her, but he also knew things she didn't.

"Some kind of car chase," he explained, "reckless drivers, nothing knew. A couple of my boys were apparently going after the driver, for speeding and holding a weapon."

Ida nodded, those officers had been Hydra plants, of course.

"Crashed a couple cars," the chief went on, "a lot of shooting apparently, citizens caught in the crossfire but thankfully none were too badly injured. We seemed to lose the driver until well…" He gestured to the overturned car.

Ida swallowed, "how did that happen?"

"Witnesses report a man was standing in the middle of the road, holding some kind of grenade launcher which he shot at the car."

Ida swallowed, "how did witnesses describe the man."

"Long hair and a prosthetic. Well—" the chief looked at her, "the exact words they used was a 'metal arm.'"

It was true then, Ida realised. The Winter Soldier had been sent to take out Fury, the deadliest assassin on Earth was in the city.

"And the driver?"

"Gone," said the chief, "not body was found, despite the man reportedly having horrible injuries. What was found was a hole in the ground."

After closely inspecting the scene for herself, Ida couldn't help but feel a little amused. Hydra had done almost everything to kill Fury, they had even caused a big scene over it. The Winter Soldier, their deadliest assassin, their _ghost story, _had been strolling down the road with all of his weapons in prime position to finish the man off. Yet Fury had managed to get away. Ida wasn't even impressed by the man's talent at this point, simply amused by it all.

Her phone rang again and she picked it up.

"I'm at the scene," she told McKenna. "Any idea on Fury's location."

"_Well_," McKenna sighed, "_I have eyes on him."_

"You do?" She blinked surprised.

The man was likely injured. While he could hide from everyone else, hiding from a trained, high-level spy like Agent McKenna would be difficult. However, if McKenna had eyes on Fury, that meant the Winter Soldier was likely two steps ahead of him and was only a few minutes away from finishing his target off.

It was getting dark now and Ida was already walking away from the car crash.

"Where is he then?" She asked.

"_It's a little strange_," said McKenna, "_at first I wasn't sure but then a bike pulled up. I think he's in Captain Roger's apartment_."

Ida dropped the call and ran.

* * *

Steve made his way up the stairs to his apartment, smiling as he passed his neighbour, Kate, on the way up the stairs.

She was talking to someone down the phone, a family member by the sound of it, and hoisting up a laundry basket under her arm. "I gotta go though," she said as she closed her apartment door, hanging up the phone and giving Steve a look. "My aunt," she explained, "she's kind of an insomniac."

Steve maintained his polite smile and glanced at her heavy basket, "hey, if you want, you're welcome to use my machine. It might be cheaper than the one in the basement."

She raised her eyebrows, "oh yeah? What's it cost?"

He laughed and shook his head. For a brief time, he had flirted with Kate, only because she had flirted first, granted. But, lately, he hadn't really found himself to reciprocate, despite the fact that Natasha kept suggesting it with a smirk.

"Nothing," he said, "if it's easier then you're welcome too."

She gave him a grateful nod, "while I better not today. I've already got a load down stairs and you don't want my scrubs in your machine. I've just finished a rotation in the infectious disease ward so…"

"Wow, I'll keep my distance."

She laughed and then paused when she saw him taking out his keys. "By the way, I think you left your music on."

He nodded gratefully to her and she walked down the stairs. When she was gone, he turned to the door and paused, listening. Sure enough, he could hear some kind of slow jazz coming from his apartment. Immediately, he became suspicious. This wasn't the kind of music he would listen to (truthfully he was experimenting with the music he had missed out on) and, even if it was, he would definitely have turned it off before he had left for work.

He entered through the window, sliding it open as quietly as he could and slipping in. His shield rested against one of the shelves, and he swooped it up and crept through the apartment, keeping his footsteps light and approaching where the sound of the music was coming from. He kept his back pressed up against the wall and glanced around, only to see a familiar figure slumped on his armchair.

Confused, he glanced at his vinyl player, to Fury who had a knowing expression on his face.

"I don't remember giving you a key," said Steve, disgruntled as he straightened up and looked at the director.

He winced in pain as he sat upright, "do you really think I'd need one?" There was a pause, Steve spotted something in his hand, a device. "My wife," explained Fury, "she kicked me out."

"Didn't know you were married," Steve remarked.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

"I know, Nick," Steve went to turn on the light, "that's the problem."

When the lamp shone onto Fury's face, Steve had a glimpse at how injured the man was.

He was bleeding from a cut on his cheek, and he looked battered and bruised. Shocked, Steve went to say something but Fury simply raised his hand and turned off the light, turning the device's screen to him.

_Ears everywhere, _it read.

Steve got the full idea of what was really going on, and glanced around.

"I'm sorry to have to do this," said Fury. "But I had no place else to crash."

He showed the device again.

_Shield compromised_.

Steve glanced at it and then at Fury. For some reason, his thoughts flickered back to Ida but he refocused his mind on the situation at hand. For now, he needed to play Fury's game.

"Who else knows about your wife?" He asked.

"Just my friends," said Fury, standing up.

_You and me, _read the device.

"Is that what we are?" Asked Steve doubtful.

"That's up to you."

Before he could reply, there was an explosion of dust as the ringing sounds of bullets firing went straight through the wall and into Fury. The man cried in pain and fell, but not before he was struck another few times. As the apartment grew cloudy from the dust, Steve managed to grab the man and pull him out of the line of fire, glancing at the window which he had left open when he had snuck in.

The sniper must've fired through there. A damn good shot.

He pulled Fury behind a shelf, and the man grabbed his arm and pulled him down.

Steve glanced at him as he coughed, and then looked at his palm. It was some kind of USB stick with the SHIELD logo imprinted on it.

"Don't… Trust… _Anyone_," the man managed to choke out before he fell unconscious.

Then, the sound of the door being kicked down and Kate's voice echoing through the dark apartment.

"Captain Rogers?"

She was holding a gun. Why did Kate have a gun?

"Captain," she said, "I'm Agent Thirteen of SHIELD's special service."

"Kate?"

"I was assigned to protect you."

"On whose orders?"

Kate— Agent Thirteen— froze when she saw the body of Fury.

"His."

Steve watched as Kate got out a radio, kneeling down beside Fury as his eyes flickered from her, to Fury and then to the window. Where was the sniper? It was hard to make out in the darkness…

"Foxtrot is down, he's unresponsive," she reported over the radio, "I need EMTs."

"Do we have a twenty on the shooter?"

Steve saw a flash of shiny, silver metal through the blinds as the sniper turned away.

"Tell them I'm in pursuit."

Ida, who had heard the shots, appeared outside of Steve's apartment building just in time to see him come crashing out the window of his place and straight into the building opposite, glass flying everywhere.

"Steve!" She yelled before swearing in Russian.

Without waiting around for McKenna or anyone else, she legged it as fast as she could, coat whipping around behind. She broke the lock to the office building with a powerful kick and ran for the stairs, sprinting around in circles. From the upper floors, she could hear shooting which she guessed came from Steve. Was he fighting? Or just in pursuit of the Winter Soldier? The thought of him coming to face with that monster was terrifying, and Ida picked up the pace.

She stumbled out on the top floor, seeing smashed glass and dented walls big enough from where his shield must've crashed into. She sprinted in the direction of the destruction, stumbling to a halt just behind a smashed window pane to see a strange sight.

The Winter Soldier, perhaps the closest anyone had ever come to him despite the fact that he was still quite a distance away, stood at the edge of the roof, Steve's shield in his metal hand. Steve was frozen, eyes locked onto the assassin.

And then the Winter Soldier threw it back at him, and it hit Steve in the stomach.

Ida looked at him. Steve looked at the shield. When they both looked back up, the Winter Soldier was gone.

Ida clambered through the broken window as Steve looked off the edge of the building, but the assassin was gone.

"Steve," she said.

He turned around, only just seeing her, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "Ida? What are you doing here?"

"I've been tracking Fury since…" She didn't want to say this afternoon, "after the car crash. Where's Fury?"

Steve looked at Ida. And Ida knew the look in his eye and felt her heart sink. He didn't trust her, something had happened or something had been said and he was uncertain over whether he could trust her or not. He stepped off the roof's ledge and walked over to her. He had quite a bit of height over her still.

"Hurt," said Steve, "dead. I… I don't know. Who was that?"

"An assassin."

"_Who_, Ida?"

"The Winter Soldier," she said calmly. "No one knows who he really is. He's a ghost story."

"Was he hired?"

"I—I don't know."

He looked at her, she held his eye contact. Those perfect baby blues scanned the murky, dark depths of her brown eyes. After a few moments, he sighed, relaxing. She hesitantly placed a hand on his arm and, when he didn't shake it off, she got a little closer to him.

"Come on," she said softly, "we need to get Fury to the hospital."

_This is your fault, this is your fault, _the voice in her head taunted and it was true.

* * *

_George Washington University Hospital_

_3am_

"Why was Fury at Steve's apartment?" Ida asked.

McKenna shrugged, "I'm pretty sure only Captain Rogers can answer that."

An hour ago, after a long, extensive surgery, Fury had been declared dead. Ida had left, recognising where she wasn't welcome and exchanging a few words with Steve before glancing over at the devastated Natasha, who didn't speak a word. She made no promises to either of them, she couldn't be trusted to uphold them.

Now, she was outside the hospital, about to go home but not before catching up with Agent McKenna. The two of them sat on a bench in the shadow of the emergency care building, the night dark and heavy hiding them from any of the other SHIELD agents that were milling around. McKenna was her best insider, she couldn't afford to let him be compromised. And she doubted that he would want to get caught either, she paid him a lot, more than his rather poor salary at SHIELD got him.

"Things are still unfolding," she sighed. "This doesn't end here, Fury's death is only the beginning." She glanced up at McKenna, "keep tabs on things for me, I'm going to take a step back."

He nodded, "that's probably the right decision. I need to head back to the Triskelion, they're calling everyone in. If something happens, I'll contact you."

He stood up and so did she, clasping his hand in a firm handshake and thanking him. She watched him go, mouth pressed into a frown, before glancing back at the hospital building. Was Steve in there? What did he make of all this? Did it even matter? Checking her watch, she came to the conclusion that the best way to cope with this was to drink.

Before she could leave though, she heard soft footsteps behind her, quiet enough that she was sure they could only belong to one person.

"Romanoff."

The redhead was standing in the white light emitting from the front doors of the hospital, arms folded over her chest and her body unnaturally stiff. While she was not visibly upset, Ida could see that her normally steely gaze was weaker. Natasha was upset, unsurprisingly. Fury had been a key part of wiping the red from her ledger, from turning her from a KGB agent to a SHIELD agent. Again, Ida felt a stab of guilt but she didn't let it show on her face.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"I'll live," was Romanoff's glum response. "What is Project Insight?"

Of course, why would anyone want to talk to Ida if it wasn't for information?

"I know about as much as you."

"I'm not an idiot, Delgrave," her tone was dry. "I know Fury hired Batroc and the pirates, he sent me to extract the data from the Lemurian Star. Both he and I knew something was up, that's why he called Hill over. But I still don't understand what Project Insight is, I don't think he did either."

Ida looked at her, she was a good few inches taller than Natasha, and shook her head.

"I don't know," she said, "I'm not lying, Romanoff, but I don't know what Project Insight is, not really. It's being kept under wraps, I'm as in the dark as you."

"You're the Woman of Whispers, no one leaves you in the dark."

"You think I'm not _trying _to find out?" Ida sighed and then looked at her, gaze solemn. "I don't have the answers, Romanoff, not yet. I reckon the truth may have died along with Fury. Unless…" She glanced up at the hospital building and then back at the redhead. "Fury wasn't alone when he died."

Romanoff frowned, "Rogers is a bad liar."

"Someone has to tell the truth around here," Ida said glumly. "I'm going to take a step back, Romanoff. I'll watch this unfold from the shadows."

Romanoff eyed her, "If we need your help, can we rely on you?"

"No," Ida said honestly.

"You say you don't know what Project Insight is, and I believe you. But there's something you're not telling me, Delgrave."

Ida looked at her wryly, "everything's got a price."

"Is now the time to be thinking about profit?"

"I'm not talking about profit."

Natasha stayed silent at that, obviously not quite understanding Ida's words. Truthfully, Ida didn't understand either but she was already at risk, they all were. Especially now the Winter Soldier had been brought into the mix. Natasha had confronted him before, she knew better than anyone how deadly he could be.

Ida nodded, "Agent Romanoff."

Natasha looked ready to ask more questions, "Miss Delgrave."

With a brief, final glance over her shoulder, Ida made her way home in the dead of night.

* * *

**A/N: And thus, we truly begin the Winter Soldier story line. This will actually be pretty brief as Ida won't play a **_**massive **_**role in the second act of the story because she doesn't need to. I didn't really want this story to become like my others where I insert her into every scene from the movie I can (granted I did do that **_**a little bit**_**), Ida's her own woman and she's got her own shit to deal with, and we'll see what that entails in the next chapter.**

**In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry it's a little short, I'll try and make the next one longer and I'm really looking forward to writing a certain scene in that one, so keep on the lookout. I'll try and update asap, but Hidden in Plain Sight still takes precedence over this story for now. Anyway, please leave a review and let me know what you think, your support means a lot!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hey guys, quick update here. I am now officially off college for the foreseeable future and I imagine it may be the same with you guys with school/work/university etcetera. Hopefully, updates should get quicker, but don't count on it. This chapter isn't too long but its fairly action-packed.**

**Side note: I have made a pinterest board for this story. If anyone wants to check it out, my username is **_**scrapingskiess**_ **and I also have a few other boards for celebrities/original stories/my other fanfiction. So please check it out!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: The Winter Soldier**

_April 2nd, 2014_

_2:30pm _

_12 Hours after the death of Director Fury_

"I'll admit," Ida remarked with a raised eyebrow, "he does like to do things with a dramatic flare."

Circe meowed in agreement, even though she was a cat and wasn't even watching the footage Ida was. It was replaying the events from SHIELD headquarters from earlier that day, from inside Pierce's office, to the fight in the elevator to Steve's dramatic getaway on the bridge. It was all very impressive, Steve taking on so many men in such a small space was nothing to be scoffed at, and reminded Ida of the battles they had fought together in Krasnoyarsk.

She took another sip of her whiskey and glanced up at Martin, her driver/assistance/general handyman.

"And SHIELD has no idea where he went?"

He shook his head, "no idea at all, ma'am."

Ida was aware of some intel connected to Romanoff and Rogers being spotted in a nearby mall. What they were doing there was unknown to Ida, but it seemed SHIELD had seemed to think they were there as they had sent the Strike team to arrest them. But, either they hadn't actually been there (though Ida's sources strongly suggested that they had been) or SHIELD's Strike team was somehow stupider than they looked, because the two hadn't been caught.

For some reason, it was comforting to Ida that Natasha was with Steve, at least he wasn't alone in this. At the same time, her heart panged. That had been her in Krasnoyarsk all that time ago. They had worked together then. Now, Ida knew a horrible secret about SHIELD that Steve was on the cusp of finding out. She supposed it had been fun while it lasted.

"Thank Agent McKenna for this footage," said Ida, closing the laptop with a sigh and walking over to her kitchen counter.

"If you wish to attempt to track down Rogers," said Martin, "I could cancel the rest of your appointments and call in some of your more… Skilled sources."

Ida knew a lot of people. She knew the right person to use to track down Steve, people who were skilled enough, deadly enough and clever enough. They were always paid well, but Ida only used them on occasional circumstances.

She considered Martin's offer and shook her head, "no. It's best to let Rogers vanish for a while. What are the rest of my appointments today?"

Martin listed off a couple of people who had arranged to visit her office today, as well as an evening meal she had planned with the Secretary of State. Ida listened to him with her head tilted to the side, and then nodded when he was done.

"I'll need you to drive me to the restaurant tonight," she said, "if that's quite alright. In the meantime, can you get me into contact with Maria Hill?"

He nodded and she smiled.

"Thank you, Martin."

She was alone again in her too-large apartment. With a sigh, she got out a glass and a bottle of whiskey, pouring some.

Circe gave her a rather grumpy sniff.

"What?" Ida raised an eyebrow, "I never conduct business sober. Especially not if I'm meeting with the Secretary of State. I only slept with him once but he seems to think we're in love," she tutted and sipped her drink. "I wonder what his wife would think of that?"

Circe simply thumped her tail and jumped off the seat she had been sitting on, walking over to another room, back to Ida.

"Whatever," she muttered, "you're just a cat anyway. I don't care about your opinion."

One of the key things about meeting, at least for Ida, was to look good.

This was hardly difficult, Ida knew she was an attractive woman. Therefore, using copious amounts of make up was hardly necessary. However, when one's identity was built around a facade of glamour and wealth, it was important to always put in effort. So, before her next meeting she sat in front of her mirror, glass of whiskey next to her as she made up her face. Especially with men, she found it easier to draw out any information from them if she was looking her best.

She wore a pair of black trousers, high waisted and kept up with a belt with a golden buckle, as well as a dress shirt that was baggy, but left most of the buttons undone, so it came off her shoulder. Not inappropriate, but definitely attractive. When she looked in the mirror, she didn't really connect with her outfit. She thought she looked paler than normal, but she could just be imagining it. Maybe she just needed to tan again.

She brushed her hair back out of her eyes and began putting in a pair of earrings when one of her phones began ringing.

"Hello?" She said, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder and using her hands to continue getting ready.

"_Miss Delgrave_."

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she smiled and went, "Pierce. So glad you're staying in contact more often. How can I help?"

"_I'm sure you already know_."

"I appreciate that you think so highly of me," she sighed, as she switched the phone to the other shoulder to finish putting her earrings in. "But Steve Rogers hasn't even been missing for twenty-four hours now, and he's constantly been on the move. I don't know where he is."

"_He hasn't contacted you?_"

Ida wanted to laugh, "Rogers isn't an idiot. Why would he contact the Woman of Whispers?"

"_Often emotions override logic._"

Ida stilled, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"_Being on the run can be a lonely experience_," Pierce sneered. "_I'm sure even Captain America needs a bedmate_."

Her blood ran cold, but she fought down the urge to snap. Pierce had hit a hard spot for her, and he had hit it hard. But allowing her emotion to show would mean he would have complete control over the conversation, and that would mean he would win.

Instead, she straightened herself up. "I'm sure he already has someone to sleep with."

"_You know that Romanoff is with him?" _

Ida did not mean to insinuate that Steve was with Natasha, because for some reason the thought of it made her feel ill. But, if it could get her out of this conversation with Pierce, then that was enough.

"I'm aware he was at a mall," she said, "but I'm fairly certain I got that intelligence for you. I've got better things to do than chase after one man. And I'm sure Hydra does too."

"_Steve Rogers is much more than one man_."

Ida knew it to be true.

"If you say so," she said, "now, as much as I enjoy our chats, I'm afraid I have business with the Secretary of State tonight. Good luck finding the blondie, I'm sure the American people will _love _the idea of SHIELD assassinating Captain America."

"_What would you know about the American people, you Russian prostitute?"_

"More than you, Nazi Pig."

And then she hung up the phone and let out a shaky breath, sitting back on her desk chair with her head in her hands. She knew better than to make enemies with Pierce. The two had never liked each other, her charm failed on him, but he was powerful and rich and so it was necessary to stay polite and friendly. More importantly, she shouldn't show weakness in front of him. He would pounce on that like a predator.

"Even more reason to make sure I'm not tracking Rogers," she looked up and said to Circe who was curled up on the bed behind her.

If she wasn't mistaken, the cat almost looked worried. Glancing back in the mirror, Ida realised she looked paler than before. She quickly put on more blusher and made her way out the apartment, hoping her meeting with the Secretary of State went better than her phone call.

* * *

It went well.

Granted, Ida had always preferred the glitz and glam of a fancy restaurant. Golden chandeliers and plates so shiny one could see their reflection in them always improved her mood. Well, that and a tall glass of champagne. Luckily, the Secretary of State was too caught up in her to notice how many bottles she was ordering. But, she was smart enough to remain tipsy, not drunk. Men liked her a bit tipsy anyway.

The Secretary fed her bits of information throughout the night as she asked questions. She told him what he wanted, about a squad of escaped war criminals hiding out in the Al-Hajar Mountains. They were wrongly convicted, but they knew precious information about the UAE government that they wanted kept quiet. And the US wanted to stay friends with the UAE. Truthfully, Ida didn't care for the conflict, she only cared about the drink in front of her. It seemed the man in front of her didn't care about it either. He was just doing a job, and then going home to his family and wife who he had cheated on. That was Ida's fault.

_Russian prostitute_.

Pierce's words rang true. Sometimes it bothered Ida that, despite how much she had tried to escape her past in the Red Room, she had turned out exactly how they wanted anyway. For a long time, she convinced herself that it was fine as she had done it on her own terms, but now she wasn't so sure.

She should've never left. How many people did she leave behind? Natasha Romanoff, who came out of it far more damaged than she. Yelena Belova. Poor Yelena, much younger, and despite all of her connections, Ida still had never found out what happened to her. She hoped she had vanished on purpose, and it wasn't the Red Room that had made her vanish.

And what had she left them behind for?

She could never return to Russia. She had done so with Steve, and Ryok had come after her there. One day Ryok would catch up with her, her past would. Everything she had done after leaving the Red Room had been for Emilia, and then Emilia had died. Every action after that had been selfish, for herself.

But it wasn't for herself. She had come to America with a dream to become unstoppable, the Russian Marilyn Monroe, the Woman of Whispers who knew everything about everyone. To leave what had happened with Ryok, his father, Emilia and in Moscow behind. Sometimes, though, she felt she had sold herself. Whoever she was now anyway.

She clinked drinks with the Secretary of State.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Secretary," she said.

"Think of it as more casual than that, please, Miss Delgrave."

She smiled and nodded, her teeth dazzlingly white. She knew very soon that there were others vying for his shaky job as President Ellis' Secretary of State, and that a scandal was due to befall the man soon. Something about Syria, something that would get him fired and replaced by the man Ellis favoured more, General Thaddeus Ross. The thought of it made Ida smirk, Thunderbolt Ross was much less of a sleazy politician, but he was a man that Ida also had an easy in with after she helped him out a few years ago. She was looking forward to seeing this guy gone.

When she left the restaurant, she allowed the Secretary to kiss her hand, and stepped into her black car.

"I hope that's the last time I have to see him," she said absently.

"I believe several pieces of incriminating evidence are due to be released next week," replied Martin.

"Next week?" She raised an eyebrow, she hadn't thought it to be so soon. Then she shrugged, must've gotten her dates mixed up. "Good, it'll be good to see his back gone. Ross is less of a politician, he'll take his job more seriously."

"Ross can be a little harsh. Especially on those with powers."

"True," she nodded, considering it. "Though, I imagine that stems from his hatred of Banner." She glanced at him, "do you vote Martin?"

"Of course."

"Good man. Who for?"

"Whoever seems the most reliable. Democrat usually, though I did vote for Nixon when I first turned eighteen in '_69_. You, ma'am?"

"Can't vote," she shrugged, "I'm a citizen but also not a citizen. If I could, I'd probably vote for whoever makes me pay the most taxes. Like the good Russian communist I am."

Martin dropped her off, and she told him to take the rest of the night off. She only planned on staying up late to sort out all the information she had gained tonight while drinking a lot of whiskey, which she had no doubt would eventually knock her out until dawn, when it was back to work once again.

As she took the elevator up to her apartment, she checked her watch. Half eleven. She should probably feed Circe too, considering the cat got a bit loud if Ida didn't feed her before bed. Which was annoying as the cat liked to sleep on the pillow right next to her head (unless she had guests over, when the cat could be surprisingly aware of her privacy) and would get her claws tangled in her hair if she was hungry.

When she got to her apartment, and left her keys on the side, she suddenly sensed something and froze. The light switch was in the living room, which was in the same room considering her place was open plan, but it was still a few steps away. The only light spilled in from the city outside, but that was hardly enough to brighten up her apartment, which was nothing but dark shadows.

Someone was here. A shadow. She could sense them, but she couldn't tell where they were. And that made her panic.

Whoever was here was trained.

She took off her coat slowly and walked forward, opening the small purse she carried with her. Always armed, she kept a very small pistol in there, perfect for emergency situations. She also had her boots, a click of her heels would reveal a pair of blades from the toes. But it was important to never put all of her cards down at once.

Just as she went to pull the gun out, she sensed the shadow move.

She fired but the shadow moved too quickly and there was suddenly a cold hand around her neck, shoving her up against a window. The pistol went sliding across the floor, out of reach..

She fought back but the grip was inhumanely strong. In her panicked state and blurring vision, she could not make out her attacker through the mane of long brown hair that covered his face. But there was another indicator to who he was.

Metal arm. Red star.

She clicked her boots together and stabbed him in the knee. He reacted by throwing her to the floor, where she hit her head hard, but scrambled back to her feet and grabbed a wine bottle sitting on her kitchen counter.

She smashed around his head. He didn't react, and instead grabbed her by the hair and tugged, and used that as a distraction to grab her neck again. This time he lifted her off the ground and kept her far away enough that she couldn't kick him with her boot blades.

She was losing air fast, her vision dancing with black spots as the cold, false fingers tightened around her small neck. Then, in the corner of her eye she spotted her real attacker.

"Pierce," her voice was hoarse, "Хватит прятаться, трус." (Stop hiding, coward).

Her words were too broken for him to translate properly, but he stepped out the shadows and turned on a light, nodding to her attacker.

He dropped her and she stumbled back away from him, gasping for air, her breath coming out in wheezes as she tried to regain any semblance of self-control.

"Where is Steve Rogers?" Demanded Pierce, "he's cost me Zola now, I want him _found_."

"I don't know, you moron," she hissed. "I haven't looked."

"You think we're not keeping an eye on you, Delgrave?" Pierce took a dangerous step forward, aware that one signal and the Winter Soldier would break her pretty neck. "We know something's going on, we know it's genuine. We know about your _dates_ and your _moments_. I know you care about him."

"Fine," she looked at him, teeth gritted. "You've caught me, I do care. And, to prove I care, I haven't gone looking for him! I'm the Woman of Whispers for God's sake, he and I both know that if I knew anything about his location, people like _you _would want me to sell him out. So call off your attack dog, for God's sake."

Pierce nodded to the Winter Soldier, who took a few steps back. Good, he believed her.

He was staring at her, but there was nothing about the man's cold eyes that said human. He wore a mask, his iconic goggles absent this time. His hair was long, matted, rarely washed and not maintained. His body was built in a way that screamed danger, in all black, padded armour, matched with an assault rifle on his back and knives in his belt. Of course, his most recognisable feature glinted in the small amount of light that came through the window. A silver, metal arm, built for throttling and killing. With one move, it would kill her

Ida swallowed. She had never seen him before, only in photos and a quick glimpse on the roof the other night. But he was fierce, deadly, Hydra's poison. Connected with so many assassinations in the past fifty years. Ida didn't know how it could be possible.

Swallowing, she straightened herself up and tore her eyes away from him. He was looking at her with an expression that only indicated one thing. She was a target, nothing more and nothing less.

"Captain America and a Russian?" Pierce shook his head, "who would've thought it?"

"Look around Pierce," she gestured to the wealth of her apartment, "do I look like a communist to you?"

"You're a threat to me, Delgrave," he said simply. "And don't you forget it. You might not know where Rogers is but I know where your heart lies. This only ends badly for you, I'm afraid. Rogers knows about Hydra now, and I bet he knows about your lies. I'm sure he already hates you."

Ida swallowed again. Doing her best not to let her emotions show but everyone of his words rang true.

"I don't even understand what there is to you other than information," snarled Pierce. "You lie, you cheat, you ruin other people's lives, you sleep around. You're just a rich whore."

"A rich whore that got you Nicholas J Fury," Ida took a step and ignored the way the Winter Soldier's eyes followed her as she moved forward. "A rich whore who has given you all the information you have ever asked for. You would be nowhere without a woman like me, Pierce, _nowhere_. Hydra would already be dead and buried, the American Government would've been turned to ash, every government, every spy agency and terrorist and charity would be _nowhere _without me and don't you forget it."

"You pride yourself in destruction? Why? Because you've done the right thing once or twice?"

"I don't care about the right thing," she said, "I care about profit and money. Call me a whore or a slut or a prostitute but I know you can't kill me. Because then who would sell you all your precious information?"

"There are other informants. There are other brokers."

She was in his face now, "and none of them are as good as me."

He didn't deny it.

She glanced over her shoulder, the Winter Soldier was right behind her. She walked away from both of them and behind the counter, calm and collected. She still had it in her, she still had control.

"You say I don't want you as an enemy, Pierce," she said, "but you don't want me as your enemy either. These are difficult times. Do you want a drink?"

She began pouring herself whiskey.

"No," he said.

"And him?"

"He doesn't want one either."

The Winter Soldier did not react.

Ida stared at him over her glass, feeling reckless.

"What if I shot and killed you right now, Pierce?" She asked, "you're his handler, and then suddenly you're not because you're dead. Then what? Would he attack me out of a sense of loyalty, or duty? Or does he just simply do as he's told? I used to train with people like him, and they were brainwashed into loyalty to the great union. Is he? Does he feel loyalty to Hydra? Or is he loyal to whoever pays him?"

"He does not get paid."

"Then what do you do to get him to behave so well?" Truthfully, Ida already knew a little. "He's difficult to control, yes? Several incidents have occured, haven't they? Injured soldiers, dead handlers. A tragedy, really. Does he feel no loyalty, or do you have to say the words?"

Pierce tensed. Ida smirked. The Winter Soldier did not react. How did she know about the words? Friends and deep pockets. She didn't know what the words were. Aside from a few of course, but she wouldn't dare.

Would she?

Pierce was worried now, Ida was clearly threatening him. She had a rifle under her kitchen counter, she felt the shape of it, she could kill him now. Even if the Winter Soldier killed her, would it matter?

Who was left to care? Steve and Natasha probably hated her. No one else actually knew her.

"Who are you loyal to?" Asked Pierce.

"Myself," she said, "I always have been."

"So will you kill me?"

"No," she sipped her drink, "not yet, I don't think. But we are enemies now, Alexander Pierce."

"Why should I let you live?"

"Why should I let you?"

He paused, calculating the odds. The truth was, Ida would not be able to stop the Winter Soldier. She was certain she could hold her own, probably for a long time, but she would never stop him. Stronger men had stood up to him and died, he had shot a bullet through Natasha's stomach once. Maybe she would not die instantly, but she would die.

Pierce didn't seem to like the odds anyway.

"I'll be taking my leave," he said, "pleasure doing business, Miss Delgrave."

She watched him head for the door, eyes narrowed before feeling as if a presence had gone.

When she glanced back, the Winter Soldier was nowhere to be found. Had he left? He hadn't taken the door like Pierce had.

_A ghost story_, she thought and downed the rest of her whiskey.

She entered her bedroom where Circe was curled up on the bed. Her meow was anxious, Ida was just relieved she had stayed out of the crossfire. She kicked off her boots and crawled into bed still fully clothed, make-up on, exhausted and feeling pathetic. For a few hours, she curled up into a ball and just cried, comforted only by the cat lying next to her.

Then, when she regained her senses at about three in the morning, she made a call.

"Martin? Sorry to wake you."

"_It's okay, ma'am_," he did not sound tired, "_how can I help you?"_

"Did you make contact with Maria Hill?"

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is a little short, but we will be seeing the return of Steve and Natasha in the next chapter! The next one will really stick to the events of the movie with a few changes here and there but the main focus is obviously on how Steve is currently feeling about Ida.**

**Yikes. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Reviews are super appreciated! What do you all think of the Winter Soldier's appearance, hmmmm… **


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